![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaylarudbekEdited to add: Hello to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rexlapinii, who newly friended me.
Well, I had two scenarios in my head that absolutely would not leave me alone, so I had to write them out this afternoon. More Walter Mitty-esque than anything I can turn into a real story at this point, and I have absolutely no clue what to do with them. The first one seems a bit promising, but the second one, I dunno...well, maybe I should post them here and expose them to sunlight and criticism so that they die...
well, I'll post the first one, at least.
Hobson’s Choice
I was plenty irritated at Arrow today. Actually, I had been irritated at Arrow more often than not since I wound up at this space station. But Arrow was really starting to bug me. If I hadn’t had the history with him that I had, I’d say that he was trying to flirt with me. But considering that Arrow had turned me down absolutely flat when I was eighteen years old, I would normally have said that he was the last person on Earth who would be flirting with me.
However, we were not on Earth. We were on Ultima Thule Space Station, and I was the only Homo sapiens female within two hundred light-years of this place. Thus, it was within the bounds of possibility that Arrow was flirting with me, as Hobson’s choice.
I was too damned proud to be Arrow’s Hobson’s choice. If his alternatives were me versus Mistress Rosy Palm, he could have Mistress Palm every night for the rest of his life as far as I was concerned. And it did not help matters that our co-workers and supervisors thought we should get together.
“So tell me again why you and Arrow should not be mates, Melly?” Quzill asked me, as I checked over figures.
“It has to do with a few human things called love and pride, Quzill,” I replied, narrowing my eyes.
Quzill shrugged. “What other alternatives do you have?”
I clenched my teeth and let out my breath. I ticked off alternatives on my fingers. “I could go after somebody else. He could go after somebody else. We could both take vows of celibacy. I could ask for a transfer. He could ask for a transfer. The Bosses could bring another Earth-human or six in.”
Quzill shook its head. “Not too likely. They don’t like to have groups of species in more than the necessary numbers to procreate.”
“Yeah, and that’s another thing. Procreation is a risky business for us live-bearing Earth-humans. If I were to procreate with Arrow, I would need assistance when the young one was born. And I don’t have that assistance here on staff. I’d want a doctor, a nurse, or a midwife. And what do I have instead? A damned insolent hologram, of all things. No help whatsoever, I don’t care how much programming the thing says it’s had.”
The Bosses were a mysterious bunch. No one knew exactly what they were, what their purpose for running these space stations was, or what their ultimate goals were. I had come here as a result of answering an employment ad in the local newspaper. Here I was newly widowed, looking for work after physical rehabilitation, and thinking, Oh, I’d get something in town while I decided what to do with the house. Instead, I wound up shanghaied billions of light-years from home; stuck with Arrow, of all people, as the only Earth-human male in two hundred light-years; and with a bunch of nosy yenta extraterrestrials as co-workers. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said that I died in the same accident that killed my husband, and went to Hell myself. However, there was kindness here, which meant that it definitely was not Hell. Purgatory, perhaps, but not Hell. The yentas meant well, but they just came across as annoying.
And an absolutely awesome review today on FA -- I have fans of the story who are trying to predict what I am going to do next, and writing their own continuations! Go me!!
Now, if I could just get these six thank-you notes written...why, why, why can I write pages and pages of fic, but agonize so over six simple form letters? One of the many mysteries of life. I am going to be a patent attorney, I am supposed to be good at words and details, and have ant-like patience and persistence, but do I apply these in my own life and to my own defense?
rexlapinii, who newly friended me.Well, I had two scenarios in my head that absolutely would not leave me alone, so I had to write them out this afternoon. More Walter Mitty-esque than anything I can turn into a real story at this point, and I have absolutely no clue what to do with them. The first one seems a bit promising, but the second one, I dunno...well, maybe I should post them here and expose them to sunlight and criticism so that they die...
well, I'll post the first one, at least.
Hobson’s Choice
I was plenty irritated at Arrow today. Actually, I had been irritated at Arrow more often than not since I wound up at this space station. But Arrow was really starting to bug me. If I hadn’t had the history with him that I had, I’d say that he was trying to flirt with me. But considering that Arrow had turned me down absolutely flat when I was eighteen years old, I would normally have said that he was the last person on Earth who would be flirting with me.
However, we were not on Earth. We were on Ultima Thule Space Station, and I was the only Homo sapiens female within two hundred light-years of this place. Thus, it was within the bounds of possibility that Arrow was flirting with me, as Hobson’s choice.
I was too damned proud to be Arrow’s Hobson’s choice. If his alternatives were me versus Mistress Rosy Palm, he could have Mistress Palm every night for the rest of his life as far as I was concerned. And it did not help matters that our co-workers and supervisors thought we should get together.
“So tell me again why you and Arrow should not be mates, Melly?” Quzill asked me, as I checked over figures.
“It has to do with a few human things called love and pride, Quzill,” I replied, narrowing my eyes.
Quzill shrugged. “What other alternatives do you have?”
I clenched my teeth and let out my breath. I ticked off alternatives on my fingers. “I could go after somebody else. He could go after somebody else. We could both take vows of celibacy. I could ask for a transfer. He could ask for a transfer. The Bosses could bring another Earth-human or six in.”
Quzill shook its head. “Not too likely. They don’t like to have groups of species in more than the necessary numbers to procreate.”
“Yeah, and that’s another thing. Procreation is a risky business for us live-bearing Earth-humans. If I were to procreate with Arrow, I would need assistance when the young one was born. And I don’t have that assistance here on staff. I’d want a doctor, a nurse, or a midwife. And what do I have instead? A damned insolent hologram, of all things. No help whatsoever, I don’t care how much programming the thing says it’s had.”
The Bosses were a mysterious bunch. No one knew exactly what they were, what their purpose for running these space stations was, or what their ultimate goals were. I had come here as a result of answering an employment ad in the local newspaper. Here I was newly widowed, looking for work after physical rehabilitation, and thinking, Oh, I’d get something in town while I decided what to do with the house. Instead, I wound up shanghaied billions of light-years from home; stuck with Arrow, of all people, as the only Earth-human male in two hundred light-years; and with a bunch of nosy yenta extraterrestrials as co-workers. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said that I died in the same accident that killed my husband, and went to Hell myself. However, there was kindness here, which meant that it definitely was not Hell. Purgatory, perhaps, but not Hell. The yentas meant well, but they just came across as annoying.
And an absolutely awesome review today on FA -- I have fans of the story who are trying to predict what I am going to do next, and writing their own continuations! Go me!!
Now, if I could just get these six thank-you notes written...why, why, why can I write pages and pages of fic, but agonize so over six simple form letters? One of the many mysteries of life. I am going to be a patent attorney, I am supposed to be good at words and details, and have ant-like patience and persistence, but do I apply these in my own life and to my own defense?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-08-13 02:56 pm (UTC)I'm terrible with thank-you notes myself, I'm afraid. The only thing I have found to work is just to sit down and do one, which isn't a terribly coherent strategy but seems to be the most applicable one for me for a lot of things. I procrastinate far too much.
no subject
Date: 2003-08-13 07:15 pm (UTC)It's rather weird, but I choose books by their titles and I start stories by their titles as well. A few intro paragraphs, a good title, and I want to know what happens next.