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Post by Leanne on Aug 18, 2012 13:38:13 GMT -5
Ok so we need some more fan fic to help us through up until Season 9 starts I know the colab we did (yang hunt anatomy) was rather hard to get off the ground so I though something a bit different Shli is moving this week so Im going ahead in her place and hope you enjoy this .... fanfic (P.G 13) and or drabbles 100 words no more no less. (even poems if you are inspired) Here is the list of titles/topics choose one and then post here or post the fanfic link here however you interpret these titles is fine (does not have to be the obvious) 1. Greys Halloween Party 2. Owen as a child 3. Im in the Army 4. Staff meeting 5. And then there were 3 6. It made me cry 7. A funny thing happend on the way to the.... 8. Macbeth 9. Mercy West's biggest day 10. What to do with all the staff ? as you finish post final deadline 19 September
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Post by thedoc617 on Aug 18, 2012 15:22:54 GMT -5
ok; i feel kinda silly for asking; but what's a dabble?
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Post by Leanne on Aug 18, 2012 15:42:58 GMT -5
a drabble is a fic of exactly 100 words, no more and no less.
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Post by lucinders on Aug 20, 2012 20:44:48 GMT -5
So I just wrote a drabble. So should I just go ahead and post it?
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Post by browncoatwhit on Aug 20, 2012 22:03:07 GMT -5
Okay! I just sat down and ripped this out -- I started with the goal of just a drabble, but just couldn't stop!! (Drabble x8 here, forgive me, please!)
# # #
RAIN CHILD
"So what was it like?" Cristina asked on their first real date, over beers and lime esponjaldo at that little Columbian restaurant overlooking the cobblestone street of Pike's Place Market. "What's it like over there?"
It was a question he had been asked before by others, and which he never found the right words to answer. Owen tried now not to frown as he groped for the simple words, the safe ones, the ones not shadowed by memories of violence. "Iraq?" he said, when what he would have rather have discussed was his fascination with the nape of her delicate neck, or the way her luminous dark eyes caught and reflected the Christmas lights that blinked on and off all around the terrace's railings. "They call it the sand pit for a reason," he said, with a pull at his Snoqualmie Falls hefeweizen. "And you can't get anything like this most anywhere I served. You never realize how much you miss a really good beer until you're serving deep in-country where it's strictly banned."
Her laughter fizzed, and the reflection of the lights were dancing in her eyes. "No, really!" Cristina insisted. "You tried to recruit me for the big adventure once. Tell me now. What was it like?"
He took another drink of cold beer, fighting a delaying action that was doomed, because Owen knew he could not refuse this woman anything. But even so, when he opened his mouth to talk about where he had been, the words created a logjam in his throat. No, not a logjam -- that invoked water and debris straining to get loose. No. When he tried to speak, the words simply vanished, as though desiccated by a fierce shamal wind and blown away as dust. Owen looked at the dark glass bottle in his hands, and felt the raindrops of condensation beneath his fingers. He felt the weight of her expectations, the weight of her waiting, and groped for words. "Dry," he admitted.
Cristina laughed again -- it was, he was sure, the sweetest sound surely to have been heard by mankind since Helen of Troy drew breath -- and he wasn't entirely sure if she was laughing at him or not. "No, really" she said again, her tone gone all take-no-prisoners.
He had been a good officer once, so Owen knew an order when he heard it. Again, he groped for what to say. He didn't want to think about the sandpit itself -- and more than anything, he didn't want to pull a seat up at this table at this time with this beautiful woman, and invite the War to sit down with them. So he seized on memories of the opposite of where he had been and what he had seen and done. He thought of how he had been born and raised here, in Seattle, which was really to say that he was a child of the rain and of the low-hanging gray skies. He thought of how it had been to grow up grow up waiting for those rare days when the skies cleared up enough that a pale sun burned away the clouds and exposed Mt. Rainer or the coastal range. He thought of watching the distant ash plume that had been the top quarter of Mt. St. Helens throwing Harry Truman and his cabin full of cats straight up in a mushroom cloud. He remembered sitting in his bedroom and listening to local bands he had loved, comprised of other local boys, fellow students of rainfall. He remembered of drinking his first beer with friends, after midnight at Bruce Lee's grave and arguing why there was no statue for Seattle's superhero. Most of all, he remembered the young man he had once been, who had dreamed big, dreamed of getting away from the wet streets and the fog, Lake Washington and the floating bridge and the industrial-tainted water of Elliot Bay. And he had done just that -- he had gotten away, to a land of constant sunshine and cerulean skies. That experience had nearly killed him, soul and body both. So the hometown boy had found his way back, to where he prayed the rain could wash him clean again.
"Really," Owen said. "It's dry in the desert. And hot. I've never lived anywhere without trees. You never realize how good it is, here at home, until you've been so far away. I'm not sure what I missed most. Good beer. Good coffee. Or the trees."
To his profound gratitude, Cristina took that as answer enough. She picked up the conversational baton and ran with it. "I grew up in California -- south of the hippie part, that is. I was shocked when I moved up here and saw how green a city could be. Trees everywhere. It's all creepy, like a real-life Twin Peaks or something."
She laughed again at her own words, and her smile was like a promise. Owen watched Cristina's smile and thought of two kisses he had stolen from her, and of how her mouth had tasted like the rain.
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Post by lucinders on Aug 21, 2012 4:38:55 GMT -5
GREY'S HALLOWEEN PARTY (100 words)
“You can’t make me do this,” Owen protested. He stared at the loincloth that Cristina had bought for him. “I refuse to be Tarzan.”
“But I will be Jane without Tarzan,” Cristina pleaded.
“No, I am Chief of Surgery,” he said. “I cannot be seen in this. Just get me something with a little more coverage. I’ll wear anything, once I am fully clothed, I promise.”
She sent a text, saying his costume was on the bed. “You promised,” she reminded.
When he got home, he found out to his horror that he was going to be a red M&M.
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Post by Leanne on Aug 21, 2012 5:55:49 GMT -5
;D Shall never look at red M&M's the same again thanks to both of you both stunning pieces look forward to reading more come share your piece with us
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Post by lucinders on Aug 21, 2012 7:18:35 GMT -5
OWEN AS A CHILD (100 words)
“Look, Dad, a bird,” Owen said, as he picked up the bird from the ground. “Its wing is broken.”
“Probably fell from its nest,” Dad said. “It won’t survive with a broken wing.”
“I’ll fix it,” Owen said. They carried the bird home and Owen tended to it, every day, until it healed.
The day had come to release the bird. Owen and Dad went to the park where they had found him. Dad threw the bird in the air and it started flapping its wings, then flew away.
“You did good, son,” Dad said, tousling his hair. Owen smiled.
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Post by kaz on Aug 21, 2012 12:36:14 GMT -5
Love them all. Keep 'em coming!
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Post by browncoatwhit on Aug 21, 2012 14:13:13 GMT -5
Drabble!
The Hunt family home was only blocks from St. Mark's Cathedral on Capitol Hill, close enough that for years, every Thursday evening, the madrigals of the men's choir practice would drift through Owen’s bedroom window. There came a time when his younger self had replaced those lilting harmonies with Soundgarten and Mudhoney, Nirvana and Alice in Chains, and his favorite little band that he still thought of as Mookie Blaylock. But long years later, when he woke from a restless sleep in his empty bed, it was the sound of those ancient madrigals that lingered in his ears.
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betinad
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Post by betinad on Aug 21, 2012 23:13:33 GMT -5
Beautiful! Keep them coming! I'm enjoying all the references to Seattle and M&M s - I couldnt stop laughing at the idea of Owen dressed as an M&M! Brilliant!
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Post by princessleah on Aug 22, 2012 0:38:18 GMT -5
Two triple drabbles, because I have an inability to censor myself:
***
"…If you don't like the way I wash your Stanford sweatshirt, you're more than welcome to do it,” Owen reminded Cristina as he opened the door for her.
Cristina scoffed as she exited the resident’s locker room so they could walk to the hospital entrance. "You know I don't do laundry."
He tried not to roll his eyes at the argument they’d been having since that morning. “So, theoretically, you shouldn’t get a say in how I wash your clothes."
The stony look in her eyes informed him otherwise and he swallowed in response even as he outwardly held his ground in their mini face-off. “I’m going to Joe’s with Meredith. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
Owen kissed her cheek gladly, a poor attempt to conceal his relief that the asinine argument was temporarily over. "See you."
"Bye." She walked off to catch up with Meredith, and Owen's stomach sank as the two of them turned to fix him with annoyed expressions before leaving the hospital.
"So what did you do?" He heard Derek's resigned voice behind him. "Washed her favorite sweatshirt with the wrong detergent.” Owen ran his fingers tiredly through his short hair. “You?"
"Screwed up Zola’s hair," Derek sighed. "Mark's heading over. Callie and Arizona are giving him the evil eye too."
Owen winced at the sight of Callie's narrowed eyes and Arizona's pursed lips and quickly made an executive decision even though all of their workdays were technically over. "Staff meeting?"
"Yes." Mark agreed without hesitation as he fell into step with the other two men.
They made their way to the former chief's abandoned office where they reached for the secret stash of scotch still in the cabinet and gratefully took the opportunity to drink away their women for a few hours in peace.
***
“This is stupid.”
“Cristina…”
“Dressing up in a costume just to go door to door begging strangers for candy. It’s stupid. And possibly the first step on the road to prostitution.”
“I’m pretty sure trick or treating doesn’t lead to prostitution.”
“Whatever. This non-holiday is stupid,” Cristina groused as they looked through the costumes. “No princesses. No animals. No cartoon characters. No Star Wars…”
Owen shook his head, grinning before his eyes lit on the one that had a chance of gaining Cristina’s approval. “How about this one?”
He knew he had her as she finally fell silent, considering, and declared a silent victory in his mind as Cristina took the set of infant scrubs from his hand and deigned to look at the costume herself.
“The scrub cap’s lame. We’ll have to fix it. Callie has all that arts and crafts crap, right?” Cristina showed the costume to Mia, who was in her stroller and far more eager than her mother to look at the selection. “What do you think, Mia? Yeah? Are you going to be a cardio god in this?”
Mia babbled back at her, reaching out to touch the scrubs and Cristina grinned triumphantly. “That’s my girl. You have good taste in costumes, don’t you?” She kissed Mia’s cheek and stood up. “She’s going to need the scrub cap fixed. We can have her wear the toy stethoscope we have at home. And we can make an ID for her so they know she’s cardio and not neuro. Or plastics.” Cristina shuddered even as she went on animatedly about what Mia would need for the costume she was probably going to wear less than two hours for trick or treating.
Owen just smiled and winked conspiratorially at their daughter, feeling that on some level, she understood.
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Post by Leanne on Aug 22, 2012 4:47:36 GMT -5
Lovely as always Princessleah
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Post by thedoc617 on Aug 22, 2012 9:53:17 GMT -5
Princessleah: YAY Mia-verse!!!!
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Post by drwyatt on Aug 22, 2012 11:21:13 GMT -5
Nice!! smiling now
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Post by fuzzybear on Aug 22, 2012 11:35:28 GMT -5
Love these! Chuckling at the thought of Owen as an M&M and Cristina getting "crafty" to ensure Mia's a proper cardio goddess.
Please keep them coming.
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Post by trinity on Aug 22, 2012 11:56:38 GMT -5
Loved them! Excellent job as always, Leah! Keep them coming
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Post by browncoatwhit on Aug 22, 2012 19:16:05 GMT -5
Betinad -- the hometown references are all for you!
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Post by Leanne on Aug 23, 2012 4:20:14 GMT -5
really quite amazing what can be conveyed in just 100 words
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betinad
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Post by betinad on Aug 23, 2012 22:34:34 GMT -5
Betinad -- the hometown references are all for you! Thanks! I like the visual of Seattle and Owen on them.... Nice You guys are really talented! I can't wait to read more! By the way, today on my way to work there was a blue truck on the lane next to me with a ginger guy on the driver seat and I almost have a heart attack! LOL
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