dream a little dream

This morning, I dreamed that my car stalled in the snow, and I got out for a jolly walk to my work. And along the way, I met Chris Kirkpatrick, who totally thought I was the coolest ever. Seriously, we bonded like whoa. And it was all snowy and pretty and we hiked through the woods, and I played it smooth, like I didn't know who he was for real. I'm pretty sure Justin was with us, too, but he was, like, background noise. He may've beatboxed a little bit. I woke up all fuzzy warm with love. It was awesome. *skips*

I fear I'm just talking out of my ass

Crossover fic has reached 35 pages, and still isn't finished. And it's turned... weird. I think it may end up being crackfic afterall. Also? I think this like my third or fourth fic in which there's a blatant Ghostbuster's reference. Huh. There's something wrong with my brain.

Rodney’s lab was actually just a supply closet off a dead-end corridor in the dungeons that he’d spelled big, and a non-Hogsmeade Saturday afternoon meant that it’d be brimming with minions diligently working under his command.

Parrish, though, was fidgeting just outside the door, Lorne lounging next to him, one hand palmed against the wall by the Hufflepuff’s shoulder.

“If you’re done flirting, David,” Rodney snapped as he strode past, elbowing him out of the way. He hated using Hufflepuffs, but Parrish and Brown were surprisingly adept at Herbology, and Rodney’d rather explain Static Arithmancy to a bunch of first years using sock puppets than work with plants. Carson was usually useful, too, when he wasn’t droning on about the latest breakthroughs in Healing.

Turning around, Rodney held the door open pointedly for Parrish, who was blushing disgustingly, and glared at Lorne until the boy flipped him off and stalked away.

“That wasn’t nice, Rodney,” Parrish said, but he hustled inside the lab.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Of course not, but moon on your own time. Right now, I need you to work with Jojo and fix whatever Kavanagh did to her brain. Hopefully it isn’t irreparable.”

“You mean Miko?” Parrish asked.

“Yes, yes, the short, teary-eyed girl in the corner over there,” Rodney pointed to where the girl was hunched over an open book, a caldron and three beakers of liquid in front of her. “You,” he called out, and she whipped her head up, almond shaped eyes startled behind her huge specs, “I apologize for making you cry yesterday morning, but in the future please try to avoid being an idiot. I realize that’s a lot to ask for, though, so I’ve decided to implement a buddy system.”

Clapping his hands once, he cleared his throat to gain everyone’s attention. “All of you turn to your left,” he said loudly. Then, “Well, not everyone. Every other one.” At their blank stares, he snapped, “Oh, for god’s sake, just pair up! The person you see in front of you? That is your buddy. You will not do anything without first having your buddy check your legwork. If you have a question on any part of your experiment, you will ask your buddy, and if further explanation is required, you may come to me. You will not, under any circumstances, discuss your projects with someone who has not been handpicked by me, and thus shows promise beyond the mild retardation this school seems foster. Understand?”