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[ithildin]

If you write fic, original or fanfic, share a favourite passage, scene, or bit of dialogue that you've written. It doesn't necessarily have to be from what might be your favourite story over all, just something you've written that stands out for you as something you thought really came out well, that made you laugh, made you cry, or that you just damn well like! (any genre or type) (slash/het/gen/or something in between) A bit about why you like it would be nice to, though not a requirement. And a link to the story would be lovely:) Yeah, I'm demanding!

You have your assignment! Now go!

(yes, I'll share mine at some point) (but I'm more interested in what you all come up with)

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[elycia.livejournal.com]

Okay, then, see if you remember this from about 500 years ago. :-)


It was still two hours before sunrise when Natalie arrived back at her apartment. She found Vachon staring idly out the window, an empty glass in his hand.

"Hey, Vachon," she said pleasantly. "You doing okay?"

"Not dead yet," he said, and Natalie could hear the smile in his voice even though his back was still to her. "At least, not by some people's standards."

She ducked her head and grinned in spite of herself, then recomposed her expression. "Did you get rid of our overnight guest?"

He turned to face her. "No, I thought I'd leave the body in the tub to rot and annoy your neighbors," he said, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Of course I got rid of it."

"Good," she said, dropping wearily onto the sofa. "You owe me a new rug."

"I'll throw a few CDs into the deal," he replied cheerfully. "Do you realize how pathetic your collection is? The Phantom of the Opera soundtrack is about the only thing even marginally worth listening to, and that gets old after the second or third time." He flopped onto the other side of the couch.

She made a face at him. "Well, you'd better consult with Sidney before you expand the music collection, because he's the only one who's around here often enough to listen to it."

"The cat hates the sight of me," Vachon said affably, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. "I keep telling him I don't *like* cat blood, but he doesn't seem convinced."

Natalie looked up at him, revulsion on her face. "You mean to tell me you've *tried*--? No, wait, don't answer that. I don't think I want to know."

"It might be better than the stuff you're feeding me now." He studied the glass in his hand. "You weren't kidding about these drinks tasting terrible."

"That seems to be the consensus," she retorted, "but you'd better learn to love 'em until we figure out what blood characteristics cause your problem. They'll keep you alive, at least." Suddenly realizing the irony of her words given her recent argument with Nick, she dropped her gaze uneasily.

"What?" Vachon said, noting her expression.

She pursed her lips, then shook her head slightly. "Vachon, I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you." She looked up at him, eyes nervously bright.

[elycia.livejournal.com]

...aaaaaand the rest of the segment, thanks to LJ's length restrictions for comments!


He didn't change position, but his whole body suddenly came alert, like a rabbit that had heard the rustle of a nearby dog. He raised his eyebrows and tipped his head in expectation.

"I...I talked to Nick today," she said quietly. "He says..." She sighed and chewed her lower lip, then shook her head again. "Vachon, the other vampires want you dead."

He relaxed slightly. "This is news?" he said with an easy grin.

She looked at him, slightly disgusted. "Vachon, he specifically said there's a death sentence on your head. Now, I don't know how vampires go about arranging their executions, but I should think you'd have reason to be concerned."

He shrugged. "Did Knight ever tell you my story?" he asked. "Up until about a year ago, I'd spent my entire life--or unlife, I guess I should say--staying at least one step ahead of another vampire who wasn't exactly happy with me." He raised his brows and grinned at her, his expression beguiling. "Ever seen The Fugitive_? He's an amateur."

Natalie's countenance became even stonier; clearly, she was not appeased.

Vachon sat up straighter on the couch and set his glass on the coffee table, his expression changing somewhat. "I expect, though, that Knight is having a fit about *your* safety," he observed, "and I can't say that his fears are out of line. Maybe I'd better find a different place to stay until we've got a better grip on this thing."

Natalie was bolt upright in a second. "No," she said, very firmly. "That won't be necessary."

He stared at her for a moment, his entire body still as he studied her. Gradually, he leaned back against the couch again, his expression slightly puzzled. "I wouldn't be out of touch," he offered, "just out of your hair--and far enough away to avoid incriminating you if the Community's henchmen do come after me."

She shook her head emphatically. "That won't be necessary," she repeated.

Vachon continued to stare at her, and she could feel the beginning buzz of what she had begun to think of as her vampire sensor. Her ability to read its strange signals had increased markedly with their practice sessions; now, she could discern Vachon's thoughts better through this mysterious wordless communication than she could by studying his expressions, though it still reminded her of a phone line riddled with static. She wondered, a little nervously, if he could gain entry to her own thoughts that way. But she *wasn't* a vampire; surely that meant that the doorway to her mind was a little narrower, a little less accessible?

"There's something going on here besides a test of courage," he said finally, providing her with a somewhat unwelcome answer. "You've got a really big chip on your shoulder. The question is, who are you expecting to knock it off?"

[elycia.livejournal.com]

Okay, so I had to split it into three parts. Sue me. :-)


She stared back at him, put out at what she felt was an invasion of her privacy. "You know," she said crossly, "for somebody who looks like he's part drug-soaked flower child and part Gen-X grungemeister, you ask a lot of nosy questions." She got up from the couch and walked to the window, arms crossed over her chest.

"And *you* are avoiding answering them." The voice was right behind her, in her ear; she'd never heard him move. Catching her breath sharply, she whirled to face him. The brown eyes bored into hers, not hypnotic but demanding nonetheless.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe my personal motives are none of your business?" she snapped, trying to breathe steadily despite her racing heart.

"Sure," he replied easily, "but in this case, I'm going to keep digging, because I can tell this all has something to do with Knight. He may be a weird one by our standards, but he's older and stronger than I am, plus he's got that short-tempered old Roman for a master, and I'm not especially anxious to add *him* to my list of enemies." When Natalie didn't respond, he began to pepper her with questions, his tone uncharacteristically businesslike.

"What exactly did he say to you, anyway? Does he want to help protect you from other vampires, or more likely, from me? I'll bet it's driving him nuts that I'm staying here, isn't it?"

"Do you think I'm crazy?" she cut in, her tone incredulous. "He doesn't know you're here!"

Vachon looked at her, clearly surprised, then his face slowly took on a dark seriousness that Natalie had never seen before; it made her uneasy. "Why not?" asked the vampire, his voice so changed she scarcely recognized it.

She didn't want to answer his question, but the vampiric sense was reverberating through her body, distracting her. Denying him the answer seemed almost like denying herself. Her own voice sounding strange in her ears, she said, "Because he's decided he has to help kill you."

Vachon stepped back abruptly, as if he'd received an electric shock. "Okay," he said, "that's it. I'm out of here." He turned his back on her, heading for the door.

"No!" she cried, almost involuntarily. "You can't leave!"

He stopped and looked at her. "Why not?" he asked, his voice flat and entirely devoid of its usual teasing tone.

"Well," she said shakily, "for one thing, it's almost sunrise." She smiled, trying very hard to be disarming.

"You're hedging," he said, advancing on her. "It's not cute anymore. Tell me: Why not?" His voice was stern.

"Because I--I need your help," she said uncertainly.