Eerie fic: the Sad, Sad Tale of Mary-Sue
Aug. 11th, 2011 01:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
froodleTitle: The Sad, Sad Tale of Mary Sue
Author: Froodle
Disclaimer: Still not mine
Fandom: Eerie Indiana
Characters: Mary Sue (with guest appearances from Mayor Chisel, Simon's dad and a twinkly blue flying unicorn named Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots
Word Count: 2314
Rating: PG13
Summary/Warning: This is pretty much all Evil Insane Monkey'sfault. A beautiful and mysterious girl named Mary Sue takes a trip to the center of weirdness for the entire planet.
The Sad, Sad Tale of Mary Sue
Once upon a time there was a young woman named Mary Sue. Her eyes were bright as the most precious sapphires, and when she was happy they sparkled like glittering supernovas and the joyful tinkling of her laughter was so beautiful that it turned bluebottles and moths and beetles into beautiful butterflies who trailed clouds of pink sparkles and golden sunshine beams behind them as they flew. Her complexion was as smooth and flawless as the most expensive porcelain and the rich, pale colour of clotted cream and the blush that graced her incomparable cheekbones made dewy roses weep with envy. Her figure was trim, her breasts were full and high, her calves were taut and shapely. Her luscious locks fell in rich, deep auburn tresses down her back, and framed her lovely face as choirs of cherubs might frame the face of a kindly God.
Yes, life was very good for Mary Sue, for she was as kind and as brave and as clever as she was beautiful. When she was not rescuing baby animals (though only the cute kind) from danger, or fighting for the rights of an oppressed people (but only those with good table manners and the necessary natural resources and thriving textile industries to sew marvellous gowns in rich, jewelled fabrics which Mary Sue would wear to the ceremonial banquets they would throw in her honour once she had saved them from cruel exploitation) Mary Sue enjoyed nothing more than sitting in her carefully tended garden and whiling away the hours devising a cure for cancer with her marvellous intellect.
However, there was one thing that made Mary Sue very sad. Her dearest friend, the twinkly blue flying unicorn Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots, came upon her one day in her garden, shedding large silvery tears that fell in geometric perfection upon the pristine white notebook that contained Mary Sue’s first notes for a Unifying Theory of the Cosmos.
“Why, my dearest Mary Sue!” cried Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots. “Whatever can be wrong? Are some indigenous peoples being exploited and tearing your tender heart with their psychic cries of woe?” (Because Mary Sue was also the strongest empathy the world had ever known, but she was so very modest that only her best friend, Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots, was aware of this).
“Oh, Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots,” sobbed Mary Sue, her grief causing her marble-white bosom to heave fetchingly. “It is far worse than that.” She wiped away a glittering tear with one slender, perfect hand. “For you see,” she continued. “I am twenty-two, and have so dedicated myself to the betterment of this world that I have allowed my personal life to suffer.” She threw her lean, toned arms about Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots’ neck and wept into his quicksilver-shaded mane. “My parents tragically died in a tragic accident when I was five, and though I dragged them from the burning airship and fended off the evil Nazis who sought me for my perfect beauty, my small body did not have the strength to administer effective CPR. Since then I have been alone in the world, an orphan, forced to make her way unaided by any outsider, nursing my private pain.”
Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots said nothing, though the sparkling diamond in his chest that serves as the heart for all flying unicorns was fracturing on hearing such an exquisite creature recount such a terrible tale of loss.
“Oh, Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots!” cried Mary. “I am so very lonely, and I fear that thanks to my tragic past, and my dedication to the betterment of humanity, I shall never find the love of a man!”
Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots wiped his best friend’s eyes with his soft, shiny unicorn-feathers.
“It will be very hard,” he said sadly. “Because your beauty and your great mind and your brave heart and your kind soul set you apart from the rest of the world, where people are sometimes grouchy or have split ends or wrinkled skin or other such hideous character flaws. But I will help you,” he went on, “Because in all the millennia that my people have lived among the humans, you are the only one who was worthy of being friends with a flying unicorn.”
He stepped back and spread his wings wide. They gleamed in the golden sunlight, reflecting in the natural highlights of Mary Sue’s luxuriant hair.
“Let us fly away from this place, Mary Sue,” he said. “We will flee this land of ordinary dullards who wear joggers or need foundation to cover up the blemishes on their face that betray the hideous, plebeian soul that lives within.” Mary Sue levitated gracefully onto his back, borne aloft by chirruping songbirds which circled her lovingly and serenaded her beauty with their sweet voices. “Together,” said Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots. “We will travel the world in search of a man who is worthy of you.”
Away they flew together, and in her absence, the garden withered and died and the sweet woodland animals turned upon each other in the violence of survival, and everywhere there was carnage and ugly death.
PART TWO
Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots beat the air with his mighty wings as the landscape raced by below them. In their wake, tiny glittering shards of pure happiness drifted down to land upon the earth, and everywhere they touched, the people and the animals and the very ground itself was enriched, and the people wept, for they had known a perfect joy and knew themselves unworthy of it.
On and on flew Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots, Mary Sue perched gracefully on his back, her glorious hair streaming in the wind, her dazzling eyes alight and an exquisite blush of exhilaration colouring her perfect face. At last, they set down in a cornfield outside a small town whose perfect triangular dimensions caused Mary Sue’s heart to beat, as she was a maths genius and therefore capable of appreciating such things that lesser beings would not even have noticed.
As they made their way into the town, Mary Sue riding side-saddle on Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots, the better to display her flawless figure, a figure approached. He was tall, and strawberry-blonde, and handsome in a ruddy-featured, works-with-his-hands-out-of-doors kind of way.
“Good morning,” said Mary Sue, her dulcet tones causing several flowers to spring up from the pavement.
“Mornin’,” said the stranger.
“I wonder if you would be so kind as to help me dismount,” said Mary Sue, extending one comely hand to the stranger. To her surprise, instead of weeping like a little child the minute he felt her soft skin against his own, he merely took it and helped her down, a little more roughly than she was used to. Already, she was quite taken with this handsome man.
‘Perhaps his brusque demeanour is the result of some tragic event in his past which only I could help him heal,’ she thought. ‘Through the power of our love, we could each heal the other’s wounds from the terrible losses we have endured, and live together in beauty and fulfilment all of our days.’
“I am Mary Sue,” she said, running one long-fingered hand up his muscular arm.
“David Holmes,” said the man.
“I am newly arrived in town, and in need of companionship and a place to stay,” said Mary Sue.
“Want to go back to my place?” said the man. “My wife won’t be back for hours.”
‘How sad,’ thought Mary Sue. ‘This poor man’s wife does not understand him, nor fulfil his needs.’ She leaned against him, opening her mesmeric blue eyes wide as she gazed into his face.
“Oh David,” she breathed. “How happy we shall be together!”
“Whatever you say, darlin’,” said David, and began removing her designer size-zero silk camisole.
It was something of a shock when his wife came home and chased her out of the house, shrieking and throwing things and generally acting in a most unattractive manner. It was more of a shock when David, instead of defending her honour against the vile woman, shoved her out of the door and shut it in her face.
Weeping under the awnings of Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots’ outstretched wings, she waited across the street until the following morning when David’s awful, un-understanding wife finally left the house, sporting a well-deserved black eye as a rebuke for her disgraceful behaviour the night before. She knocked on the door, intending to deliver a speech of such inarguable elegance, wit and charity that he would at once throw off the shackles of that dread harridan and inconvenient child, and devote his every waking moment to her happiness alone.
He opened the door with a whiskey bottle in one hand, and she noticed with concern that his knuckles were grazed and bleeding. She entered the front room and began her speech, but, no doubt aggravated by the torturous memory of his wife’s lack of understanding, David was eventually provoked into punching Mary Sue in her beautiful face.
“It is utterly disgraceful,” she told Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots later that day, as she iced the bruise disfiguring her perfect cheekbones. “Whatever the reason, a man who hits a woman is no man. As a crusader for feminist rights, I simply cannot countenance it, even if his patience was tried by that hideous wife of his.”
Mary Sue was strong, and brave, and independent, and needed no man to help her feel complete. David had lost the opportunity to share his life with her beauty and wit, and that would torture him for the rest of his days, for a modern woman such as Mary Sue would not debase herself with a man who did not respect the gentler, fairer sex.
Once the swelling had gone down and the bruise was merely a faint shadow that served only to highlight the extraordinary colour and clarity of her wonderful eyes, Mary Sue and Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots took a stroll around the town.
There was something amiss in Eerie, Mary Sue thought to herself. In other lands, people had recognised her innate goodness and purity of spirit and wanted nothing more but to help her achieve her high-minded goals and say nice things about her in national publications. Here, her wise declarations and graceful mannerisms attracted only polite nods before people moved on.
“That’s a great flying unicorn you’ve got there,” said a young man handing out flyers in the centre of town.
Mary Sue laid one dainty hand on Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots’ mane. “Yes,” she said, leaning against her friend so that his sparkly blue colouring would match her own mesmerizing eyes.
“Winston Chisel,” said the young man. “I’m running for a seat on the Eerie Commissioners.” He handed her a flyer and looped his arm proprietarily through hers. “Do you have a moment to talk about crop yields and tax burdens on the hard-working farmers of Eerie, and what we as citizens can do to reduce it?”
Mary Sue considered herself a well-informed individual, in touch with all the important issues of the modern world. True, she was unfamiliar with the logistics of farming in Eerie, or indeed anywhere else, and other people had always eagerly paid any tax bills she might have accrued thanks to her good deeds and contributions to the worlds of art and science (for in addition to being an accomplished mathematician and an empathy, Mary Sue was a painter whose talent rivalled Da Vinci, and thanks to her wonderful singing voice, she occasionally gave small concerts for those she deemed deserving and who could contribute some tasteful gift or other in gratitude), but she felt sure her keen intellect would be able to grasp the issues at hand.
“Of course,” she said. “Nothing is more important than serving our community.”
As Winston talked about good harvests and the ancient concepts of kingship and sacrifice and thirteen-year cycles, Mary Sue nodded and smiled politely during the right pauses and generally conducted herself with great aplomb. She signed his petition and mentioned that she was new to town and looking for a place to stay, but to her disappointment he merely directed her to the Mark Twain Inn, then excused himself to talk to a man in sober black clothing carrying a pitchfork.
The beastly man at the Mark Twain Inn quite refused to give her a room without paying in advance, even when she told him of the hardship of being orphaned so young and having dedicated her life to helping others and thus sacrificing her personal desires on the altar of the Greater Good. He also refused to let Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots come inside.
“No animals!” he rasped, and all her well-reasoned arguments would not sway him.
“You will just have to be tied up outside, Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots,” she told her friend, at which point Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots, who had unbeknownst to her developed an addition to a particularly noxious fluid known as Cornade, told her to “get the fuck out of it, you stuck up cow!” and flew away, leaving her stranded.
So it was that Mary Sue was poor, and alone, and quite unhappy with her lot in life.
Eventually, she met Walt Wilson. He was short, and fat, and balding, but he made a good salary and lived in a large house and drove a nice car. She changed her name to Betty and after they were married, he set her up selling his company’s products door-to-door. She wore pretty clothes and nice shoes and went to the salon once a week to have her hair done, and everyone acknowledged that Betty Wilson kept a wonderful house and was a wonderful cook and a wonderful and mother to her twin boys, Bertram and Ernest.
Because if Eerie is a town that sets itself against all men, it reserves a particularly vindictive streak for those named Mary Sue.
Author: Froodle
Disclaimer: Still not mine
Fandom: Eerie Indiana
Characters: Mary Sue (with guest appearances from Mayor Chisel, Simon's dad and a twinkly blue flying unicorn named Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots
Word Count: 2314
Rating: PG13
Summary/Warning: This is pretty much all Evil Insane Monkey'sfault. A beautiful and mysterious girl named Mary Sue takes a trip to the center of weirdness for the entire planet.
Once upon a time there was a young woman named Mary Sue. Her eyes were bright as the most precious sapphires, and when she was happy they sparkled like glittering supernovas and the joyful tinkling of her laughter was so beautiful that it turned bluebottles and moths and beetles into beautiful butterflies who trailed clouds of pink sparkles and golden sunshine beams behind them as they flew. Her complexion was as smooth and flawless as the most expensive porcelain and the rich, pale colour of clotted cream and the blush that graced her incomparable cheekbones made dewy roses weep with envy. Her figure was trim, her breasts were full and high, her calves were taut and shapely. Her luscious locks fell in rich, deep auburn tresses down her back, and framed her lovely face as choirs of cherubs might frame the face of a kindly God.
Yes, life was very good for Mary Sue, for she was as kind and as brave and as clever as she was beautiful. When she was not rescuing baby animals (though only the cute kind) from danger, or fighting for the rights of an oppressed people (but only those with good table manners and the necessary natural resources and thriving textile industries to sew marvellous gowns in rich, jewelled fabrics which Mary Sue would wear to the ceremonial banquets they would throw in her honour once she had saved them from cruel exploitation) Mary Sue enjoyed nothing more than sitting in her carefully tended garden and whiling away the hours devising a cure for cancer with her marvellous intellect.
However, there was one thing that made Mary Sue very sad. Her dearest friend, the twinkly blue flying unicorn Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots, came upon her one day in her garden, shedding large silvery tears that fell in geometric perfection upon the pristine white notebook that contained Mary Sue’s first notes for a Unifying Theory of the Cosmos.
“Why, my dearest Mary Sue!” cried Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots. “Whatever can be wrong? Are some indigenous peoples being exploited and tearing your tender heart with their psychic cries of woe?” (Because Mary Sue was also the strongest empathy the world had ever known, but she was so very modest that only her best friend, Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots, was aware of this).
“Oh, Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots,” sobbed Mary Sue, her grief causing her marble-white bosom to heave fetchingly. “It is far worse than that.” She wiped away a glittering tear with one slender, perfect hand. “For you see,” she continued. “I am twenty-two, and have so dedicated myself to the betterment of this world that I have allowed my personal life to suffer.” She threw her lean, toned arms about Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots’ neck and wept into his quicksilver-shaded mane. “My parents tragically died in a tragic accident when I was five, and though I dragged them from the burning airship and fended off the evil Nazis who sought me for my perfect beauty, my small body did not have the strength to administer effective CPR. Since then I have been alone in the world, an orphan, forced to make her way unaided by any outsider, nursing my private pain.”
Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots said nothing, though the sparkling diamond in his chest that serves as the heart for all flying unicorns was fracturing on hearing such an exquisite creature recount such a terrible tale of loss.
“Oh, Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots!” cried Mary. “I am so very lonely, and I fear that thanks to my tragic past, and my dedication to the betterment of humanity, I shall never find the love of a man!”
Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots wiped his best friend’s eyes with his soft, shiny unicorn-feathers.
“It will be very hard,” he said sadly. “Because your beauty and your great mind and your brave heart and your kind soul set you apart from the rest of the world, where people are sometimes grouchy or have split ends or wrinkled skin or other such hideous character flaws. But I will help you,” he went on, “Because in all the millennia that my people have lived among the humans, you are the only one who was worthy of being friends with a flying unicorn.”
He stepped back and spread his wings wide. They gleamed in the golden sunlight, reflecting in the natural highlights of Mary Sue’s luxuriant hair.
“Let us fly away from this place, Mary Sue,” he said. “We will flee this land of ordinary dullards who wear joggers or need foundation to cover up the blemishes on their face that betray the hideous, plebeian soul that lives within.” Mary Sue levitated gracefully onto his back, borne aloft by chirruping songbirds which circled her lovingly and serenaded her beauty with their sweet voices. “Together,” said Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots. “We will travel the world in search of a man who is worthy of you.”
Away they flew together, and in her absence, the garden withered and died and the sweet woodland animals turned upon each other in the violence of survival, and everywhere there was carnage and ugly death.
PART TWO
Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots beat the air with his mighty wings as the landscape raced by below them. In their wake, tiny glittering shards of pure happiness drifted down to land upon the earth, and everywhere they touched, the people and the animals and the very ground itself was enriched, and the people wept, for they had known a perfect joy and knew themselves unworthy of it.
On and on flew Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots, Mary Sue perched gracefully on his back, her glorious hair streaming in the wind, her dazzling eyes alight and an exquisite blush of exhilaration colouring her perfect face. At last, they set down in a cornfield outside a small town whose perfect triangular dimensions caused Mary Sue’s heart to beat, as she was a maths genius and therefore capable of appreciating such things that lesser beings would not even have noticed.
As they made their way into the town, Mary Sue riding side-saddle on Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots, the better to display her flawless figure, a figure approached. He was tall, and strawberry-blonde, and handsome in a ruddy-featured, works-with-his-hands-out-of-doors kind of way.
“Good morning,” said Mary Sue, her dulcet tones causing several flowers to spring up from the pavement.
“Mornin’,” said the stranger.
“I wonder if you would be so kind as to help me dismount,” said Mary Sue, extending one comely hand to the stranger. To her surprise, instead of weeping like a little child the minute he felt her soft skin against his own, he merely took it and helped her down, a little more roughly than she was used to. Already, she was quite taken with this handsome man.
‘Perhaps his brusque demeanour is the result of some tragic event in his past which only I could help him heal,’ she thought. ‘Through the power of our love, we could each heal the other’s wounds from the terrible losses we have endured, and live together in beauty and fulfilment all of our days.’
“I am Mary Sue,” she said, running one long-fingered hand up his muscular arm.
“David Holmes,” said the man.
“I am newly arrived in town, and in need of companionship and a place to stay,” said Mary Sue.
“Want to go back to my place?” said the man. “My wife won’t be back for hours.”
‘How sad,’ thought Mary Sue. ‘This poor man’s wife does not understand him, nor fulfil his needs.’ She leaned against him, opening her mesmeric blue eyes wide as she gazed into his face.
“Oh David,” she breathed. “How happy we shall be together!”
“Whatever you say, darlin’,” said David, and began removing her designer size-zero silk camisole.
It was something of a shock when his wife came home and chased her out of the house, shrieking and throwing things and generally acting in a most unattractive manner. It was more of a shock when David, instead of defending her honour against the vile woman, shoved her out of the door and shut it in her face.
Weeping under the awnings of Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots’ outstretched wings, she waited across the street until the following morning when David’s awful, un-understanding wife finally left the house, sporting a well-deserved black eye as a rebuke for her disgraceful behaviour the night before. She knocked on the door, intending to deliver a speech of such inarguable elegance, wit and charity that he would at once throw off the shackles of that dread harridan and inconvenient child, and devote his every waking moment to her happiness alone.
He opened the door with a whiskey bottle in one hand, and she noticed with concern that his knuckles were grazed and bleeding. She entered the front room and began her speech, but, no doubt aggravated by the torturous memory of his wife’s lack of understanding, David was eventually provoked into punching Mary Sue in her beautiful face.
“It is utterly disgraceful,” she told Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots later that day, as she iced the bruise disfiguring her perfect cheekbones. “Whatever the reason, a man who hits a woman is no man. As a crusader for feminist rights, I simply cannot countenance it, even if his patience was tried by that hideous wife of his.”
Mary Sue was strong, and brave, and independent, and needed no man to help her feel complete. David had lost the opportunity to share his life with her beauty and wit, and that would torture him for the rest of his days, for a modern woman such as Mary Sue would not debase herself with a man who did not respect the gentler, fairer sex.
Once the swelling had gone down and the bruise was merely a faint shadow that served only to highlight the extraordinary colour and clarity of her wonderful eyes, Mary Sue and Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots took a stroll around the town.
There was something amiss in Eerie, Mary Sue thought to herself. In other lands, people had recognised her innate goodness and purity of spirit and wanted nothing more but to help her achieve her high-minded goals and say nice things about her in national publications. Here, her wise declarations and graceful mannerisms attracted only polite nods before people moved on.
“That’s a great flying unicorn you’ve got there,” said a young man handing out flyers in the centre of town.
Mary Sue laid one dainty hand on Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots’ mane. “Yes,” she said, leaning against her friend so that his sparkly blue colouring would match her own mesmerizing eyes.
“Winston Chisel,” said the young man. “I’m running for a seat on the Eerie Commissioners.” He handed her a flyer and looped his arm proprietarily through hers. “Do you have a moment to talk about crop yields and tax burdens on the hard-working farmers of Eerie, and what we as citizens can do to reduce it?”
Mary Sue considered herself a well-informed individual, in touch with all the important issues of the modern world. True, she was unfamiliar with the logistics of farming in Eerie, or indeed anywhere else, and other people had always eagerly paid any tax bills she might have accrued thanks to her good deeds and contributions to the worlds of art and science (for in addition to being an accomplished mathematician and an empathy, Mary Sue was a painter whose talent rivalled Da Vinci, and thanks to her wonderful singing voice, she occasionally gave small concerts for those she deemed deserving and who could contribute some tasteful gift or other in gratitude), but she felt sure her keen intellect would be able to grasp the issues at hand.
“Of course,” she said. “Nothing is more important than serving our community.”
As Winston talked about good harvests and the ancient concepts of kingship and sacrifice and thirteen-year cycles, Mary Sue nodded and smiled politely during the right pauses and generally conducted herself with great aplomb. She signed his petition and mentioned that she was new to town and looking for a place to stay, but to her disappointment he merely directed her to the Mark Twain Inn, then excused himself to talk to a man in sober black clothing carrying a pitchfork.
The beastly man at the Mark Twain Inn quite refused to give her a room without paying in advance, even when she told him of the hardship of being orphaned so young and having dedicated her life to helping others and thus sacrificing her personal desires on the altar of the Greater Good. He also refused to let Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots come inside.
“No animals!” he rasped, and all her well-reasoned arguments would not sway him.
“You will just have to be tied up outside, Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots,” she told her friend, at which point Mister Popinjay McGraw-Pixiefoots, who had unbeknownst to her developed an addition to a particularly noxious fluid known as Cornade, told her to “get the fuck out of it, you stuck up cow!” and flew away, leaving her stranded.
So it was that Mary Sue was poor, and alone, and quite unhappy with her lot in life.
Eventually, she met Walt Wilson. He was short, and fat, and balding, but he made a good salary and lived in a large house and drove a nice car. She changed her name to Betty and after they were married, he set her up selling his company’s products door-to-door. She wore pretty clothes and nice shoes and went to the salon once a week to have her hair done, and everyone acknowledged that Betty Wilson kept a wonderful house and was a wonderful cook and a wonderful and mother to her twin boys, Bertram and Ernest.
Because if Eerie is a town that sets itself against all men, it reserves a particularly vindictive streak for those named Mary Sue.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-08-11 01:29 pm (UTC)Eerie should have a sign that says "Mary Sues Beware". Marshall can make it. And Simon can bake cakes that say "Sorry Our Town Un-Sued You"
because I'm convinced Simon grows up to be a baker...no subject
Date: 2011-08-11 01:51 pm (UTC)Radford can hang that sign in the World o' Stuff next to the Hookers Corner sign. Also, baker!Simon would be awesome, because then he could make damn sure that he had a cake with his name on it for every birthday, and he would refuse to make apple pie and also sometimes he could have little baking-wars with Major Lorne (when Major Lorne isn't helping Brennan and The Dave fight crime, obviously)
no subject
Date: 2011-08-11 05:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-11 08:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-11 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-11 09:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-11 09:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-11 02:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-11 04:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-11 08:09 pm (UTC)And damn you and Evil for distracting me with thoughts of Lorne/Simon. With all this awesomeness floating around to occupy my head, I'm well on my way to never getting anything done again.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-11 08:35 pm (UTC)HAH! I can kind of see it, now that it's been brought up... Everyone loves Major Lorne anyway, so why should Simon be immune to his Kavan Smithish ways?