I Blame the Dutch (mpoetess) wrote,
I Blame the Dutch
mpoetess

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Things Found Congealing On My Hard Drive


AKA more WIP/snippets for WIP Amnesty Day.

This was a tiny bit of Wes/Angel schmoop written in chat to amuse self/zortified, and... I'm not entirely certain why it wasn't working for me. The schmoop seemed in imminent danger of turning into smarm, for one. I don't actually think it's bad as it is -- I just had absolutely no place in mind to go; it was complete improv and I hit the spot where I didn't have a clue what came next. When that happens on the first page of the story, it's not a story; it's some banter.

Wes/Angel banter, with kittens

"I don't think that goes there." Angel sounded unsure of himself. As if, perhaps, the kitten's ear *did* belong in his sister's mouth.

Wesley shook his head. "No, but he seems to be handling the experience rather well, all things considered."

"Shouldn't we stop them?" Angel made a tentative poke in the direction of the tussling piles of fur on the lobby floor, then withdrew his hand quickly at the sound of a rather loud mew.

"They're only kittens, Angel."

"So you say." Angel's frown was as dubious as his voice. "You're not the one with enough clawmarks on his hands to make Cordy think I've been out killing Ratspiders again."

"I'm not the one who was asinine enough to pick them up while they were eating. What would you do if some huge frightening monster picked *you* up by the scruff of the neck just as you were settling into dinner?"

Angel looked quite serious for a moment. "Before the soul? Probably ask if it wanted a bite, then cut its head off when it wasn't looking. Now..."

"Very funny. Anyway, it's not as if your hideous war wounds aren't already healing."

"Not the point." Angel slipped a finger into his mouth absently, sucking on it. "The point is, they *look* like kittens -- but why would somebody leave a basket of kittens on a vampire's front doorstep?"

Wesley arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps they thought you were lonely," he said with a straight face.

"I'm not lonely."

A polite cough.

"I'm *not*!" Angel insisted. "I've got you, and Gunn, and Cordelia, and..." Angel glanced around. "This great big empty hotel because none of you live here and also not the point. Nobody in this town would leave kittens on my doorstep because they thought I was lonely. A bucket of holy water maybe -- or a bomb -- but not kittens."



and, bar unused fragments of the WIPs that I will not let go of, that appears to be it for solo stuff. There were more, but two hard drive reformattings lost me quite a few files over the last 2 years or so, and my WIPs folder was definitely one of the victims of the first crash.

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