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YES!
My office has heat again! HALLELUIAH! PRAISE PIMP JESUS.
Which means that this is your official reminder that THE FF IN SPACE MEME IS STILL GOING ON~!
You have about a week and a half to complete your AWESOME work. So to motivate yourself, comment here with either (a) a snippet of your work or (b) the idea you plan to write September 29th at 10:00pm right before the meme ends!
Which means that this is your official reminder that THE FF IN SPACE MEME IS STILL GOING ON~!
You have about a week and a half to complete your AWESOME work. So to motivate yourself, comment here with either (a) a snippet of your work or (b) the idea you plan to write September 29th at 10:00pm right before the meme ends!
and I'll start
He jerked upright, banging his head against the unusually low ceiling in the second flyer before he caught his balance. "Oh, fucking shitfuck," he muttered.
Quistis raised an eyebrow. "You'd better not be doing that.."
Seifer rubbed his head, and threw her a glare. "Why are you all so short?"
"Maybe if you were in the right ship," Quistis said pointedly, idly rubbing the pilot's insignia on her upper arm, "your head wouldn't feel quite so bad."
Re: and I'll start
Blah, I had a good idea for this meme but learning life skils has kind of gotten in the way >>. I SHALL TRY TO DO EET
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Just when my month long writer's block was starting to decline, Word decided to NOT WORK AND SEE IF IT CAN DRIVE ME TO DRINK AGAIN. ...Not cool.
There is not nearly enough crack, and already it wants to be way more epic than I intended...
"Hey now." Gippal tossed her a glare over his shoulder as he ran up the gangplank. "You don't think I checked the specs on every ship in the fleet? She'll fly."
The metal walkway clanged under her feet, then even more loudly under Nooj's heavy footsteps. "I don't see as we have much choice," Nooj said. "Show us to the bridge."
"This way." Gippal led them through the narrow, dim hallways that opened out into a small command center with three chairs -- pilot, co-pilot, and gunnery. "Paine, take the pilot's chair."
"Me?" Paine twisted around to stare into Gippal's single eye.
Gippal grinned. "You wanted to fly, right? Here's your chance."
Paine shook her head frantically. "But I'm an amateur. Wouldn't you be better at it?"
"Can't." Gippal gestured down the hallway. "I have to keep everything running in the engine room. And we need Baralai to chart our course, and you'll have a defter touch than Nooj on the helm. Nope, it's gotta be you."
FFX - IN SPACE!
Tidus hated being the son of the hero – he wanted to stand up and shout that Jecht wasn't the man they thought. He wanted to laugh at the people who had eulogized his old man as a kind and caring father. The portrait of the man over the hangar entrance as Tidus passed beneath it that morning was a constant reminder of what all the pilots should aspire to be – but Tidus would never be as selfish as his old man. Never.
The pre-flight briefing was in ten minutes, and he jogged through the massive area on the way to the small room just off the deck. He was flagged down by one of the mechanics just before he made it through the briefing room door.
“Tidus, big day today,” his friend announced.
“2B-9?” Tidus replied. “Simeon, you have to be kidding. It's me sitting talking to myself for four hours until the computer says it's okay to go back and show the geeks down in stellar cartography all the fancy pictures.”
The mechanic clapped a dirty, oiled palm on Tidus' shoulder. “I meant when you get back, you idiot. We on for blitz tonight? Gearheads versus the skipper jockeys, you in?”
Tidus' eyes widened in realization. Had he forgotten about the game already? Having to walk past Jecht's picture seemed to sap him of his mind from time to time. He gave his friend a big grin. “I'm getting past you tonight, Sim. How many goals did I score against you last time?”
The mechanic groaned, shoving him back in the direction of the briefing room. “You're all talk. Put your gil where your mouth is.”
“Yeah! I will!” he shouted back, shoving open the door. “See you when I get back!”
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-----------------------------
I – The Coriolis Effect
Xu smashed her fist against the console and decided that she really needed to kill something, preferably with the assistance of a conspicuously large bottle of gin.
Beneath her fingertips thousands of tiny red lights flickered on and off across the screen, generously informing her that no, the computer was not going to be telling her anything even vaguely useful about their Hyne-forsaken location any time soon, thumping be damned, although it was quite happy to compensate by vomiting the entire contents of Selphie’s music collection into the bridge at full pelt until the gayla came home. She resisted the urge to ram the heel of her hand into her skull. Anything but the Moomba Girls.
“It’s like being trapped inside the mind of a bag of candy floss,” she informed the display off-handedly, watching as the error message winked back at her with a kind of guileless, well-meaning cheer that reminded her a little too much of saucer-eyed cadets in their first tactical class.
Deciding that the broken console was no where nearly appreciative enough of her scintillating wit and judging that – as tempting as the figurative self-destruct button was looking – blowing up The Seraph was probably not the most practical solution to the incessant whine of the top-hundred worst girl bands in the history of humanity (primarily because a) Xu would be dead; b) Quistis, if not dead, would almost certainly be cranky and c) knowing Xu’s luck the song would probably keep playing even if she reduced the ship to a smoking wreck), Xu wheeled herself across the floor and lifted the lid on the comm. panel. Wondering just how much of the computer’s memory was dedicated to ensuring that the petite pilot was continually supplied with all the sparkles and rainbow-striped kittens a chewing-gum addicted borderline sociopath could ever want, she tapped her access code into the lurid green keypad. The intercom – never her favourite piece of equipment – responded with a loud and undignified screech that sounded something like snow lions mating, leaving Xu faintly disturbed by her ability to draw the analogy.
Note to self #463: Do not go drinking in Trabia ever again.
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