"and every time you ask him for another vanishing act, he half-smiles"

[mooging]

Right, fic-writing is currently something I want to do but none of the characters are behaving and I can't get anything to work (except Ed Byrne and Russell Howard, who, conversely, won't shut the hell up when I want them to, and, yes, they do count as characters, be quiet), so I call upon the powers of meme and the uber-powers of friends-list, and ask you to bear another one-sentence fic meme, to get me in the writing mind-set again.

Pretty please?

Give me a character (or multiple characters, or a pairing, or a theory, or a ridiculous AU, or anything you like, really) from a fandom (er, preferably one that I'm familiar with. If you don't know whether I know a fandom or not, feel free to ask. Crossovers are absolutely fine), and a theme to go with it (by 'a theme' I mean anything that will give me some idea of where I'm going - be as vague or as specific as you want to be), and I'll write you a one-sentence fic. You may make as many requests as you like. 

ILYOUALL.

Comments

[missfoxie.livejournal.com]

I shall belatedly ask for two one-sentence fics, because I can be a demanding little madam like that.

#1 = Guy Secretan & Gaius Baltar are in a bar.

#2 = Lucius Malfoy goes clothes shopping.

(yes, they are crap ideas but it is past midnight :P)

[moogle62.livejournal.com]

#1: "So, you're, what, some form of twatty rodent alien King?" says Guy, scoffing loudly and tossing back the last half of his pint, while Balter slides slowly off the bar-stool and onto the floor; then, looking down, Guy discovers Baltar having an in-depth conversation with something near Guy's shoelace that is, in fact, thin air, and decides that even Mac's scrawny ginger company is better than that of the twitchy little man with scared eyes and a propensity for talking to nothing and claiming to be from another planet where he brought about the end of the world (and Guy's not having trouble believing that now).

#2: It isn't often Lucius Malfoy goes clothes shopping (normally, the clothes are brought to him and he sneers at them or feigns disdain long enough to terrify their maker before pretending to relent, taking them to his walk-in wardrobe - which is, in fact, a walk-in room: he finds wardrobes constrict his majesterial glamour - and swishing around in front of the mirrors, testing them with all his hair flicks and haughty looks he can muster, to make sure they won't diminish his impressive nature), but when he does, everyone in the shop snaps to and runs for their wands, just in case: he is a death eater, and what's worse, he's picky.