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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/1SW6tUO:
#2 in a series of snippets of this week’s mostly-useless but wordy writing tangents:
Yes, I wrote RPF. But it’s not slash. It’s. This is embarrassing.
It’s Oscar and BB-8. I gave up after 2k when no plot materialized. I mean. There’s a plot but it doesn’t make sense. I don’t do RPF. I sort of dared myself to write it. It’s not slash! I’m not slashing an actor and a fictional robot.
It’s platonic slash maybe? Oscar/Domhnall if you like, squint ish, but probably not.
The document is literally titled “stupid” in my drafts folder.
“Yeah hi,” Domhnall said into his phone, over Oscar’s shoulder. “Oh, yeah, I just got in. No no, the hotel’s fine. Everything’s fine. I just, okay here’s a weird one. I’m with Oscar? Yeah, Oscar. And there’s– the BB-8 robot thing? Is in his room. And like. Trying to talk to him. It’s really odd. And we figure it has to be a prank but we can’t figure out why? Or like, how to get it to go away so Oscar can sleep?”
Oscar collected himself to look over his shoulder at the prop, which was– okay it was watching them. It was looking at Domhnall, specifically, Oscar was sure.
“I mean, I figure it was just– oh, no, it’s on, it’s like rolling around and stuff. Beeping. Very cute.”
“’s weird,” Oscar said. “It’s like it can see where it’s going.”
“Mm-hmm,” Domhnall said. He held Oscar by the shoulder and steered him over to the bed. “Yeah. I figure maybe someone borrowed it from the props department or something but– well, right. It’s, yeah.” He laughed. “The poor fucker is so jet-lagged he can barely talk, and there’s this fucking robot beeping around his room.”
Oscar sat on the bed and blinked fuzzily at the robot, which was still apparently trying to hide. It made a very pathetic sort of beeping noise, and swiveled its eye thing back and forth between Oscar and Domhnall, and Oscar got the distinct feeling it was afraid of Domhnall, which made no sense, Don had never worked with it at all, and then he thought maybe it watched the movie and it was scared of him because he was Hux, but that also didn’t make much sense, Don currently had his hair and beard scruffy because they hadn’t started the filming yet and he was a disaster of a human and couldn’t be relied upon to maintain a proper haircut, and also he was dressed in his customary fashion of Scrawny College Kid and could not have looked less like a Space Nazi if he’d been trying which honestly he might have been, and so why would– “I need to go the fuck to sleep,” Oscar said. A prop robot had not watched a movie. Yes, literally everyone in the world had watched Star Wars, but that did not include props robots.
“You sure do,” Don said. He’d hung up the phone somewhere in there, and stood with his hands on his skinny hips a moment looking at Oscar. “Do you need me to put you into your pjs, mate? Are you on drugs or something?”
“No,” Oscar said, “no drugs. I’m fine. I can take my own pants off.”
“The props guy is probably getting chewed out right now,” Don said, “and will be on the way over shortly, I’m sure, so if you want to just go to bed– what time is it, where you are now?”
“It’s now,” Oscar said, because that was confusingly obvious.
“Christ almighty,” Don said for some reason.
…
Somewhere in there Oscar had apparently fallen asleep because eventually it was morning and he’d slept in his pants and he felt hung-over. But there was no robot, and he felt really silly checking in the closet and in the bathroom, but it was just such an odd thing to have happened. Unless maybe he’d dreamed the whole thing.
“No,” Domhnall said, when he saw him later, “that was real. Are you sure you weren’t on drugs?”
“Jesus,” Oscar said, annoyed, “if I was on drugs I wouldn’t lie to you about it.”
“You’d better share,” Domhnall said.
“Of course I would,” Oscar said sweetly, because after all Domhnall had come up to his room at o-god-o’clock and taken care of an errant prop robot so sharing hypothetical narcotics with him was the least he could do.
So that’s a thing. Amusingly, I have painted nails for the first time in forever and so my fingernails are slightly longer than usual and the only thing that really means is that I keep trying to hit the comma key and missing, so my style has a lot fewer commas than usual unless I’ve gone back and edited them in. So consider that for a moment if you will.
(Also i am sure Domhnall Gleeson does not shorten his name to Don but I got tired of typing it. If I was for real I would fix it but I am emphatically not for real.)
(Literally nobody asked for this but I am just aces at utterly failing to do the necessary thing and doing something awful instead. I minored in that, actually, back at school. Very prestigious.)
#2 in a series of snippets of this week’s mostly-useless but wordy writing tangents:
Yes, I wrote RPF. But it’s not slash. It’s. This is embarrassing.
It’s Oscar and BB-8. I gave up after 2k when no plot materialized. I mean. There’s a plot but it doesn’t make sense. I don’t do RPF. I sort of dared myself to write it. It’s not slash! I’m not slashing an actor and a fictional robot.
It’s platonic slash maybe? Oscar/Domhnall if you like, squint ish, but probably not.
The document is literally titled “stupid” in my drafts folder.
“Yeah hi,” Domhnall said into his phone, over Oscar’s shoulder. “Oh, yeah, I just got in. No no, the hotel’s fine. Everything’s fine. I just, okay here’s a weird one. I’m with Oscar? Yeah, Oscar. And there’s– the BB-8 robot thing? Is in his room. And like. Trying to talk to him. It’s really odd. And we figure it has to be a prank but we can’t figure out why? Or like, how to get it to go away so Oscar can sleep?”
Oscar collected himself to look over his shoulder at the prop, which was– okay it was watching them. It was looking at Domhnall, specifically, Oscar was sure.
“I mean, I figure it was just– oh, no, it’s on, it’s like rolling around and stuff. Beeping. Very cute.”
“’s weird,” Oscar said. “It’s like it can see where it’s going.”
“Mm-hmm,” Domhnall said. He held Oscar by the shoulder and steered him over to the bed. “Yeah. I figure maybe someone borrowed it from the props department or something but– well, right. It’s, yeah.” He laughed. “The poor fucker is so jet-lagged he can barely talk, and there’s this fucking robot beeping around his room.”
Oscar sat on the bed and blinked fuzzily at the robot, which was still apparently trying to hide. It made a very pathetic sort of beeping noise, and swiveled its eye thing back and forth between Oscar and Domhnall, and Oscar got the distinct feeling it was afraid of Domhnall, which made no sense, Don had never worked with it at all, and then he thought maybe it watched the movie and it was scared of him because he was Hux, but that also didn’t make much sense, Don currently had his hair and beard scruffy because they hadn’t started the filming yet and he was a disaster of a human and couldn’t be relied upon to maintain a proper haircut, and also he was dressed in his customary fashion of Scrawny College Kid and could not have looked less like a Space Nazi if he’d been trying which honestly he might have been, and so why would– “I need to go the fuck to sleep,” Oscar said. A prop robot had not watched a movie. Yes, literally everyone in the world had watched Star Wars, but that did not include props robots.
“You sure do,” Don said. He’d hung up the phone somewhere in there, and stood with his hands on his skinny hips a moment looking at Oscar. “Do you need me to put you into your pjs, mate? Are you on drugs or something?”
“No,” Oscar said, “no drugs. I’m fine. I can take my own pants off.”
“The props guy is probably getting chewed out right now,” Don said, “and will be on the way over shortly, I’m sure, so if you want to just go to bed– what time is it, where you are now?”
“It’s now,” Oscar said, because that was confusingly obvious.
“Christ almighty,” Don said for some reason.
…
Somewhere in there Oscar had apparently fallen asleep because eventually it was morning and he’d slept in his pants and he felt hung-over. But there was no robot, and he felt really silly checking in the closet and in the bathroom, but it was just such an odd thing to have happened. Unless maybe he’d dreamed the whole thing.
“No,” Domhnall said, when he saw him later, “that was real. Are you sure you weren’t on drugs?”
“Jesus,” Oscar said, annoyed, “if I was on drugs I wouldn’t lie to you about it.”
“You’d better share,” Domhnall said.
“Of course I would,” Oscar said sweetly, because after all Domhnall had come up to his room at o-god-o’clock and taken care of an errant prop robot so sharing hypothetical narcotics with him was the least he could do.
So that’s a thing. Amusingly, I have painted nails for the first time in forever and so my fingernails are slightly longer than usual and the only thing that really means is that I keep trying to hit the comma key and missing, so my style has a lot fewer commas than usual unless I’ve gone back and edited them in. So consider that for a moment if you will.
(Also i am sure Domhnall Gleeson does not shorten his name to Don but I got tired of typing it. If I was for real I would fix it but I am emphatically not for real.)
(Literally nobody asked for this but I am just aces at utterly failing to do the necessary thing and doing something awful instead. I minored in that, actually, back at school. Very prestigious.)
