June 23rd, 2005


what dreams may come, when you sleep too long

There's this riff in MST3K about bad movies where, for lack of budget, all the action takes place off-camera and all you get are people's reaction shots. "Oh my god, look at THAT!" MST3K: "What, what?! Show *us*!"

So, I had really astonishingly detailed dreams last night, that I'm not going to detail in full. But I'm summarizing for my own mnemonic purposes.

1. I dreamed I was a gangster, like that Mafia guy in Batman Begins. I went to another gangster's house to make a deal--I'll call him Armando. I passed his look-out on the street, who let me through after a check and signalled that I was coming up. I got to Armando's huge apartment. It was Thanksgiving, and he was there with his extended family--wife, many kids, assorted other relatives. I spent a lot of dream time admiring his apartment, which was actually in dire need of renovation and messy. (Kids.) I remember a particular picture on the wall, that I didn't really appreciate but was kind of fascinated with. Armando, being a family man, impressed me. My own wife had died a while back and it was still eating me up inside. We sat around doing the preliminary social ritual before making our arms deal, and it was obligatory but pretty nice. I was being careful not to offend Armando and was putting myself out further than I normally would--as I said to him, "I'm not really a people person."

Midway through the visit, a corrupt government agent, a nemesis of Armando's, barreled in with threats, cowing the family, disrupting their holiday. I shot the guy--in front of the entire family--being all herolike, and was showered with thanks. Armando had previously asked me, as a kind of oblique challenge, to pick up some dessert pies for him, for his family, after the deal was cemented--as a show of goodwill. We'd talked about pies for a while before I reluctantly agreed. Now, having shot the agent, I said, "I won't be picking up those pies now. I think we're even." But it was all good. I stayed for dinner, chatted with Armando's wife, loaded the dishwasher with her, and eventually left, walking out with Armando, who was very pally with me--arm around my shoulders, and so on. We were accompanied by one of his goons, who'd at some point offended me. As we walked, he kept treading on my heels. Armando was going to let me kill the guy, as a friendly gesture. The dream ended with me trying to figure out exactly how I'd do it, and also with me promising Armando that I'd help renovate his apartment if he ever got around to it--for instance by stripping and refinishing his floors.

2. In the other dream, I was a teacher in a classroom. The class was staying there overnight. It was also a holiday in this dream, but there was an equal bomb-shelter element, as if we were holed up during an air raid in World War II. It was night time, and I was keeping the kids quiet at the desks, trying to ensure that they slept. One girl was an insane freak, though. She had ADHD and was a shrill know-it-all. She kept getting up and running around, dominating the others, making them her audience. She grabbed some guy's pet cat in a misguided and clumsy attempt to care for it. At that point I went to find one of the school counselors who could help me control her. One of the other kids, a boy, was the class monitor, responsible for keeping the classroom door locked. I had him let me out, and promise to keep the girl inside. I went down the hallways to find a counselor. The school was weirdly stocked for the duration--lots of candy and snacks intended to keep kids happy, and so on. I got the counselor and brought her back. She quelled the girl. Then I forced her to stay and help. When she tried to leave the room, I told her, "If you leave now, you can NEVER COME BACK." Weirdly, after a few tries, this actually worked on her. We served cake and ice cream, and, as in many of my dreams (see previous mention of dishwasher and renovation) I did a lot of clean-up, swiping up spilled ice cream, tidying misaligned things. There was poster paint in the coffee creamer! My god. The end.

At some point I may also have dreamed about cats.

Okay, that was actually a good bit of detail.

SGA help!

sherrold and I are about to cherry-pick through some SGA episodes. I vaguely remember hearing that in one of them, Rodney's kind of bad and wrong if not entirely evil. Does that ring a bell with anyone? :D

god knows what else I'll get accomplished tonight...

I watched SGA with Sandy and then, as in now, I meant to write, but I think I'm fading. But I amuse myself by posting this, because...um, I amuse myself.


"I saw Tom Seneca in the hall today."

Jack looked up rather sharply. "And?"

"He practically ran the other way." Vaughn smirked a little, despite his lingering soreness over how that matter had gone. He liked to think that not all his pride was masculine, but it was in this case. "I think he actually believed you'd kill him."

"What makes you think I wouldn't?"

That deserved an eye roll. "Even you aren't that unhinged."

"I prefer not to make idle threats." Jack neatly sliced a tomato into quarters. "If that kind of thing gets around, it can undermine a man's reputation."

"You *prefer* not to, but you did," Vaughn said, challenging the air of menace that Jack liked to cultivate. Actually, that menace was usually genuine, but he suspected that Jack coasted on appearances now and then like anyone else.

"Perhaps." The other man wasn't smiling, but his tone was mild.


...I'm going to bed, to further unfold my AU where Vaughn is kidnapped by someone in the sex-trafficking industry and trained to be a sex slave, and there's much trauma, but before he can be sold he is rescued by Jack, who has secretly loved him for years. And Jack soothes him in the limo, and says very clearly that he will do *anything* Vaughn wants, no matter what it is, and Vaughn eventually says "Paris." So Jack takes him to Paris, having told no one in L.A. what's going on. And after some emotional negotiation, Vaughn realizes that he just wants to stay there. So Jack gets a transfer to the Paris branch and buys a swank Parisian flat, and creates a false identity for Vaughn, merely as a kind of psychological crutch, because Vaughn doesn't want to be "Vaughn" any more, just a guy named "Michael" who lives with Jack and was never with the CIA and never abducted. And because he doesn't want anything to do with that life, Jack never does tell anyone in L.A. what happened to him--everyone back at the agency just lives in terrible ignorance until one day when Sydney finds out, but never mind that. The point is that Michael and Jack live happily together, and while Jack is off at work Vaughn wanders around Paris, visiting museums and sitting in cafes during the day because he has no job. But eventually he takes classes and maybe teaches.

"What's a fandom without a pleasure slave fic? I ask you. A SAD fandom, that's what." -- circe_tigana

This insane mental lapse has been brought to you by OOC, LTD.