Trick or treat
Oct. 31st, 2006 04:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
louiseluxIt's like trick or treat, only not really. Leave a comment and I will post something for you, ie, fic snippet, a song, a picture, a poem or something else random that I think of.
note: tricks and treats will vary according entirely to my whim
ps - comments will be answered when I get home a little later
note: tricks and treats will vary according entirely to my whim
ps - comments will be answered when I get home a little later
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 11:20 pm (UTC)***
Tink, Tink, Tink, went the rain as it landed on the armour piled in heaps on the battlefield. It fell in iron grey sheets, flooding the ground and filling up the footprints of dead men. The iron sky threw its gloomy shadow over the gentle curves of the hills, scarred here and there by outcroppings of granite. Everything that wasn't grey was green and everything that wasn't green was brown: the bodies lying in heaps splattered in mud, the bare trees, even the clouds looked brown. The live people were mud coloured lumps, almost indistinguishable from the dead ones. Here and there was a flash of dirty blond hair.
A hut stood in one comer of the field. It was a rough stone hovel with one door and no windows. A very wet goat stood outside, tethered to a post. A wisp of smoke rose from the hole in the roof. The people who lived in the hut until last night had this morning found themselves inexplicably rehoused in the nearby forest. Inside, on a pile of dog-scented furs, Crowley sat chewing unhappily on a small, hard apple. What did it have to rain so much for anyway?, he thought bitterly, staring out of the doorway at the mud splattered people and one angry goat. The apple core flew out of the door and bounced of the head of one of the peasants busy scavenging the belongings of the dead soldiers.
Crowley sighed, a deep, exhausted sigh, even though he couldn't be really bothered to feel tired. But he was. Tired of this wretched country and its pathetic, smelly, illiterate inhabitants. He fell back onto his smell bed and pulled a greasy hide over himself. He might as well try and get some sleep for while, if he had to stay here. Young Cnut could wait a few years, surely. Crowley tucked his chin into his chest and thought longingly of blue skies and the scent of lemon groves. He was just settling down into that dreamy state just on the edge of sleep when he heard a familiar and annoying apologetic cough coming from outside.
'Dear fellow, we really must stop meeting like this,' a mild voice said, and there was the sound of mud being kicked off boots.
'Oh, bugger off, ' Crowley mumbled into his pillow, his mouth curving into a smile.
no subject
Date: 2008-06-23 06:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 11:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 12:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 11:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-02 10:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 03:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 06:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 11:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-02 09:27 pm (UTC)Murder on the Dancefloor by Sophie Ellis Bextor
no subject
Date: 2006-11-04 12:02 am (UTC)