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amataraFinally, my first B5 fic is ready for posting! *does little victory dance*
To be honest, I'd almost forgotten how fanfic-writing can lift one's love for a show to unimagined levels, but oh my, did it ever! I'm positively glowing with affection for Londo and G'Kar right now - hopefully the story manages to convey that same feeling. I also posted a little picspam to go with this fic: feel free to check that out, too!
Rating: G, Angst
Summary: G'Kar sharing a drink with Londo, on *his* terms. Londo's thoughts.
Set during the S4 episode "No surrender, no retreat".
Spoilers: Yes, for Londo and G'Kar's personal arcs up to late S4.
Disclaimer: Owned by JMS and Babylonian Productions.
Thanks to:![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
selenak, for the wonderful beta job, and for being the Londo expert that she is.
Changes of heart
When G’Kar lowered himself onto the seat next to him, it was all Londo could do not to scream. Or weep. Or just, simply, run.
Truly, why G’Kar’s acceptance, or his refusal to give it, should be important to him at all, his conscious mind still couldn’t grasp.
Bah, he must be growing soft, to be shaken so badly by such a trivial thing. Over a Narn, no less! Even worse – over precisely that Narn who would, some twenty-odd years from now, passionately strangle him to death. That he should suddenly need the respect of that man, respect he had never before received or even wanted in the first place, was too ridiculous to contemplate!
Still, the truth was that, in a strange and painful way, it did matter. Mattered even more because it had been denied to him. That, along with his understanding of how utterly irrational his feelings were, only made his humiliation that much greater.
Fidgeting, Londo struggled to keep his head down, hoping against hope that not acknowledging G’Kar would make him disappear.
He felt crushed, torn between numbness and a rising sense of desperation. He was, without a doubt, drunk – though not nearly drunk enough to forget the sight of G’Kar pouring the offered Brivari back into the bottle, or to ignore the sick ache that was squeezing his chest. In any case, the last thing he needed was another confrontation with potentially disastrous results. If the Narn had come here to gloat, to kick him while he was down –
A gleam of reflected light caught his eye, and he looked up just in time to see the bartender plunk down a drink, one that G’Kar must have ordered. The polished glass gleamed enticingly, and despite his resolve to ignore, ignore, ignore, Londo found himself staring at it as if hypnotized. There was an odd familiarity to the amber liquid within, and for a moment he thought, fighting a brief surge of mixed panic and hope: Is that…? But no, no. It wasn’t possible. Great Maker, was he hallucinating, now, as well?
Then he glanced, for the first time, at G’Kar’s face, and what he saw knocked him completely off guard.
There was no trace of malice there, none of the coldness the Narn had oozed while having Londo in his quarters. Pride, yes. Dignity, yes. Fire, passion, determination, yes, all of that. But no anger, or hatred, or even indifference, at all. Instead, there was a mild, almost nervous look about him, something halfway between reluctance and mild exasperation.
Every nerve in Londo’s body, every instinct he possessed, screamed at him to stop looking, to flee before something irreversible happened. He was, suddenly, terribly afraid of what G’Kar had come to say, even though – or, more likely, because – he could feel in his bones it would not be anything hurtful. Somehow the thought of a civilized word from this man, the exact thing he had been begging for just a few hours ago, made him feel as frightened, as vulnerable, as that day the Narn had beaten him to a pulp and picked apart his mind.
There was still time, still a chance to get up and make a run for it, and for a moment Londo considered exactly that, heedless of how undignified it would look. But his gaze seemed glued to the silhouette beside him, and so he sat, unable to tear himself away.
In a haze, he saw G’Kar pick up the drink, the motion deliberate enough to be mistaken for hesitation. The room shrank to a bubble, then a pinprick, until all Londo could see was the glass, filled to the brim with amber light, and the long Narn fingers curling around it, bringing it up, up in what seemed like agonizing slowness until it touched the full Narn lips, then was tilted even higher, to vanish in one deep and fluid swallow. Those same lips tightened as G’Kar allowed himself a grimace of disgust, either at the taste of the drink or at what it represented, or both.
Londo was suddenly transported back to that first time he himself had tried Brivari as a young boy – young, yes, since the art of imbibing was one the Centauri took very seriously, and so their children were taught it at an early age. He recalled how he had coughed and sputtered at the burning in his throat; then, as the alcohol dissipated, marveled at the sweetness that hid behind it, a flavor that floated up into his head and sank down toward his stomach, until all he could feel was a cottony heat that made it very, very difficult to breathe.
He felt rather like this at the moment, breathless and intoxicated, even though his own glass had been empty for a while, and too many years of drinking Brivari had dulled the effect it had on him, anyway.
All through his musing, G’Kar had continued to stare firmly ahead, hadn’t shot him so much as a glance, and the sight of it sharpened Londo’s anxiety until it was like a knife-point twisting in his gut. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to display that same outward air of steeliness, but his nerves, for once, got the better of him. By the time the Narn had put the empty glass down on the tabletop, he was feeling positively queasy with apprehension, and probably looking it, too.
Ahh – Great Maker, what kind of a diplomat was he, anyway?
He struggled for calm as G’Kar, finally, straightened and began to speak.
“Issue the joint statement.” A long, reluctant beat. “I will sign my name. But – ” and now the Narn did turn to face him, fixing him with a look that was sincere and challenging at the same time, “not on the same page!”
A flicker in the eye that was almost, but not quite, amusement.
“Do you understand that?”
Londo blinked, disoriented. G’Kar’s voice was deep, slow, resonant, each word drawn out and infused with determination, yet it held the same half-hearted mildness that had shown on his face just a moment before. It was the mildness that drew him in, cushioned him in dazed incredulity, until he was focusing more on the tone of the words than on what, precisely, they meant. But then he did register what G’Kar had said, and suddenly relief, gratitude, pride, embarrassment, and a giddy sense of elation were all fighting for acknowledgment inside his chest.
“Yes… Yes, of course!” he stammered, faintly.
He groped for words, desperately wanting to add something more, a witty trifle to show he wouldn’t be bullied, but nothing came out, and in the end he just sat there, mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land. By the time his head had cleared enough for him to think of an appropriate remark, G’Kar had already stood up and was moving away from the bar.
Londo stared after him, sweating, hearts fluttering in his ribcage like a pair of frightened birds.
Curse him, why was he so easily intimidated by that ill-dressed, ill-tempered, thrice-damned son of a… a Narn? Even now, sweeping across the room with that unselfconscious, almost dandyish flair of his, G’Kar looked more like the victor of a battle than as a man who had come to offer his surrender.
But – no, he thought, grudgingly. Not surrender. If one of them had surrendered today, it had been himself. And if one of them had been generous in offering a truce, it had been G’Kar, not himself. Even though, of course, he wouldn’t admit that to the Narn if his life depended on it. Or, well… perhaps then, but not under any other circumstance.
Still, a part of Londo – the part that was eternally vain and incurably self-absorbed, and wasn’t quaking along with the rest of him – felt just the tiniest bit disappointed.
He wasn’t quite sure what he’d wanted from G’Kar in the first place. No heartfelt display of camaraderie, for sure; he was realistic enough not to hope for that. But certainly more than just a dry acceptance of his, otherwise perfectly reasonable, proposal. A sharing of respect, perhaps; or an acknowledgment of his own, perversely ironic, realization: that the moments they had shared in that prison cell, with G’Kar in chains but still the stronger of them both, had brought them closer together than any conscious effort could ever have.
But G’Kar hadn’t granted him any of that; had, in fact, not conceded very much at all.
True, G’Kar might not view the events on Centauri Prime in quite the same light as he himself did. After all, the Narn had lost both an eye and his dignity there. But he had regained so much more: the freedom of his world, his own life, … Surely, all things considered, the man should be happy with the bargain he’d struck!
While what had he, Londo Mollari, offered up for the greater good? Yet another part of his soul, along with two of the things most precious to him: the last of Vir’s innocence, and his own belief in a fresh start for his people. The soul he could do without; the rest had been much harder to part with. Granted, he had scored victories of his own, but even the saving of Centauri Prime, which had felt so sweet, so well-deserved at the time, now left only a bitter aftertaste. After all, it had been himself who, by playing into Morden's hands, had endangered his world in the first place, and that knowledge had been enough to strip the memory of all glamour. Add to that a one-way ticket to the throne that meant his doom, and... Well, if G’Kar thought he was the only one who’d made sacrifices, he obviously had to think again!
Londo snorted, fighting down a stab of hurt pride. Ah, what had he expected, anyway? “Conversations in a prison cell: the start of a beautiful friendship?” What a delusion!
He snapped himself out of his brooding, only to realize he had taken G’Kar’s empty glass, and was twirling it absently around in his hand.
The glass. The drink. Surely that meant something, didn’t it?
There had been, he thought, no need for G’Kar to meet him in person. He could easily have sent a message and be done with it. But instead he’d come here, to talk – if not with Londo, then at least to him – and to share… a drink. Oh, yes, that was definitely something. And the spark of almost-humor that he’d seen in G’Kar’s eye at the last… that, perhaps, was something more.
He smiled, suddenly feeling a little less desperate.
Along with the surge of hope came a rush of exhaustion, and before he knew it tears were welling up behind his eyes, threatening to spill out. Mortified, he fought them down, but still the weariness was creeping up, nibbling at his defenses bit by sneaky bit.
Great Maker, he was tired… How long had it been since he got any real sleep? It felt like he hadn’t had a decent hour of rest ever since his time with Cartagia – though of course that couldn’t be true, or he would have cracked weeks ago.
But he was cracking, wasn’t he? Curse him, he had to get out of here! He had to get out right now, before he started blubbering like a baby over G’Kar’s – G’Kar, of all people! – gesture of goodwill, and disgraced himself in front of half the station!
Blindly, he slipped off his chair, started the long walk toward the exit, G’Kar’s glass still clutched in his hand. If the bartender cried after him, he didn’t hear it. If people stared at him oddly while he weaved his way outside, he didn’t see them.
What he also failed to see was G’Kar, standing stiffly in a corner, observing it all.
If he had seen, he might have made more of an effort to hold the tears at bay. As it was, he hardly registered when one of them broke free and started to slide down his cheek. The hand he brought up to brush it away moved more on instinct than out of any conscious need for dignity –
– but the Narn over in the darkness noticed, and shook his head in amazement.
Dear G’Quan. Whenever he thought he had Londo Mollari all figured out, the man would turn right around and become someone different altogether.
G’Kar shifted his weight a little, trying to decide what to do with this particular change.
He had to admit he had no idea.
In truth, his decision to stay and watch had been an act of pure impulse. He wasn’t generally the voyeuristic type – well, all right, apart from that one illicit foray into the Centauri’s mind, but that was years ago, and besides, the man had deserved it – so why, really, had he stayed?
Out of a penchant for disaster, most likely; he’d fully expected Mollari to start off on another drinking binge, induced by self-pity. Oh, part of him would have liked to see that. It would have meant he could pat himself on the back for his superiority, for the power he held over this sad, pathetic Centauri excuse for an ambassador, and go right back to hating him in that old, comfortingly familiar way.
But, craving familiarity though he was, when he watched Mollari make his way through the crowd, caught between tears and laughter, looking pale enough under the sickly lighting to seem almost fluorescent… Watching that instance of the man he’d thought he knew, G’Kar couldn’t find it in himself to hate.
No. If Mollari could still be moved by another living being, that meant he wasn’t beyond redemption. And if he could be moved by him, G’Kar, and show it while no one (he thought) was watching… that, perhaps, meant something more.
Pulling over a chair, G’Kar allowed himself a cautious smile.
Maybe, just maybe… Londo Mollari’s heart wasn’t quite empty after all.
To be honest, I'd almost forgotten how fanfic-writing can lift one's love for a show to unimagined levels, but oh my, did it ever! I'm positively glowing with affection for Londo and G'Kar right now - hopefully the story manages to convey that same feeling. I also posted a little picspam to go with this fic: feel free to check that out, too!
Rating: G, Angst
Summary: G'Kar sharing a drink with Londo, on *his* terms. Londo's thoughts.
Set during the S4 episode "No surrender, no retreat".
Spoilers: Yes, for Londo and G'Kar's personal arcs up to late S4.
Disclaimer: Owned by JMS and Babylonian Productions.
Thanks to:
selenak, for the wonderful beta job, and for being the Londo expert that she is. Changes of heart
When G’Kar lowered himself onto the seat next to him, it was all Londo could do not to scream. Or weep. Or just, simply, run.
Truly, why G’Kar’s acceptance, or his refusal to give it, should be important to him at all, his conscious mind still couldn’t grasp.
Bah, he must be growing soft, to be shaken so badly by such a trivial thing. Over a Narn, no less! Even worse – over precisely that Narn who would, some twenty-odd years from now, passionately strangle him to death. That he should suddenly need the respect of that man, respect he had never before received or even wanted in the first place, was too ridiculous to contemplate!
Still, the truth was that, in a strange and painful way, it did matter. Mattered even more because it had been denied to him. That, along with his understanding of how utterly irrational his feelings were, only made his humiliation that much greater.
Fidgeting, Londo struggled to keep his head down, hoping against hope that not acknowledging G’Kar would make him disappear.
He felt crushed, torn between numbness and a rising sense of desperation. He was, without a doubt, drunk – though not nearly drunk enough to forget the sight of G’Kar pouring the offered Brivari back into the bottle, or to ignore the sick ache that was squeezing his chest. In any case, the last thing he needed was another confrontation with potentially disastrous results. If the Narn had come here to gloat, to kick him while he was down –
A gleam of reflected light caught his eye, and he looked up just in time to see the bartender plunk down a drink, one that G’Kar must have ordered. The polished glass gleamed enticingly, and despite his resolve to ignore, ignore, ignore, Londo found himself staring at it as if hypnotized. There was an odd familiarity to the amber liquid within, and for a moment he thought, fighting a brief surge of mixed panic and hope: Is that…? But no, no. It wasn’t possible. Great Maker, was he hallucinating, now, as well?
Then he glanced, for the first time, at G’Kar’s face, and what he saw knocked him completely off guard.
There was no trace of malice there, none of the coldness the Narn had oozed while having Londo in his quarters. Pride, yes. Dignity, yes. Fire, passion, determination, yes, all of that. But no anger, or hatred, or even indifference, at all. Instead, there was a mild, almost nervous look about him, something halfway between reluctance and mild exasperation.
Every nerve in Londo’s body, every instinct he possessed, screamed at him to stop looking, to flee before something irreversible happened. He was, suddenly, terribly afraid of what G’Kar had come to say, even though – or, more likely, because – he could feel in his bones it would not be anything hurtful. Somehow the thought of a civilized word from this man, the exact thing he had been begging for just a few hours ago, made him feel as frightened, as vulnerable, as that day the Narn had beaten him to a pulp and picked apart his mind.
There was still time, still a chance to get up and make a run for it, and for a moment Londo considered exactly that, heedless of how undignified it would look. But his gaze seemed glued to the silhouette beside him, and so he sat, unable to tear himself away.
In a haze, he saw G’Kar pick up the drink, the motion deliberate enough to be mistaken for hesitation. The room shrank to a bubble, then a pinprick, until all Londo could see was the glass, filled to the brim with amber light, and the long Narn fingers curling around it, bringing it up, up in what seemed like agonizing slowness until it touched the full Narn lips, then was tilted even higher, to vanish in one deep and fluid swallow. Those same lips tightened as G’Kar allowed himself a grimace of disgust, either at the taste of the drink or at what it represented, or both.
Londo was suddenly transported back to that first time he himself had tried Brivari as a young boy – young, yes, since the art of imbibing was one the Centauri took very seriously, and so their children were taught it at an early age. He recalled how he had coughed and sputtered at the burning in his throat; then, as the alcohol dissipated, marveled at the sweetness that hid behind it, a flavor that floated up into his head and sank down toward his stomach, until all he could feel was a cottony heat that made it very, very difficult to breathe.
He felt rather like this at the moment, breathless and intoxicated, even though his own glass had been empty for a while, and too many years of drinking Brivari had dulled the effect it had on him, anyway.
All through his musing, G’Kar had continued to stare firmly ahead, hadn’t shot him so much as a glance, and the sight of it sharpened Londo’s anxiety until it was like a knife-point twisting in his gut. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, trying to display that same outward air of steeliness, but his nerves, for once, got the better of him. By the time the Narn had put the empty glass down on the tabletop, he was feeling positively queasy with apprehension, and probably looking it, too.
Ahh – Great Maker, what kind of a diplomat was he, anyway?
He struggled for calm as G’Kar, finally, straightened and began to speak.
“Issue the joint statement.” A long, reluctant beat. “I will sign my name. But – ” and now the Narn did turn to face him, fixing him with a look that was sincere and challenging at the same time, “not on the same page!”
A flicker in the eye that was almost, but not quite, amusement.
“Do you understand that?”
Londo blinked, disoriented. G’Kar’s voice was deep, slow, resonant, each word drawn out and infused with determination, yet it held the same half-hearted mildness that had shown on his face just a moment before. It was the mildness that drew him in, cushioned him in dazed incredulity, until he was focusing more on the tone of the words than on what, precisely, they meant. But then he did register what G’Kar had said, and suddenly relief, gratitude, pride, embarrassment, and a giddy sense of elation were all fighting for acknowledgment inside his chest.
“Yes… Yes, of course!” he stammered, faintly.
He groped for words, desperately wanting to add something more, a witty trifle to show he wouldn’t be bullied, but nothing came out, and in the end he just sat there, mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land. By the time his head had cleared enough for him to think of an appropriate remark, G’Kar had already stood up and was moving away from the bar.
Londo stared after him, sweating, hearts fluttering in his ribcage like a pair of frightened birds.
Curse him, why was he so easily intimidated by that ill-dressed, ill-tempered, thrice-damned son of a… a Narn? Even now, sweeping across the room with that unselfconscious, almost dandyish flair of his, G’Kar looked more like the victor of a battle than as a man who had come to offer his surrender.
But – no, he thought, grudgingly. Not surrender. If one of them had surrendered today, it had been himself. And if one of them had been generous in offering a truce, it had been G’Kar, not himself. Even though, of course, he wouldn’t admit that to the Narn if his life depended on it. Or, well… perhaps then, but not under any other circumstance.
Still, a part of Londo – the part that was eternally vain and incurably self-absorbed, and wasn’t quaking along with the rest of him – felt just the tiniest bit disappointed.
He wasn’t quite sure what he’d wanted from G’Kar in the first place. No heartfelt display of camaraderie, for sure; he was realistic enough not to hope for that. But certainly more than just a dry acceptance of his, otherwise perfectly reasonable, proposal. A sharing of respect, perhaps; or an acknowledgment of his own, perversely ironic, realization: that the moments they had shared in that prison cell, with G’Kar in chains but still the stronger of them both, had brought them closer together than any conscious effort could ever have.
But G’Kar hadn’t granted him any of that; had, in fact, not conceded very much at all.
True, G’Kar might not view the events on Centauri Prime in quite the same light as he himself did. After all, the Narn had lost both an eye and his dignity there. But he had regained so much more: the freedom of his world, his own life, … Surely, all things considered, the man should be happy with the bargain he’d struck!
While what had he, Londo Mollari, offered up for the greater good? Yet another part of his soul, along with two of the things most precious to him: the last of Vir’s innocence, and his own belief in a fresh start for his people. The soul he could do without; the rest had been much harder to part with. Granted, he had scored victories of his own, but even the saving of Centauri Prime, which had felt so sweet, so well-deserved at the time, now left only a bitter aftertaste. After all, it had been himself who, by playing into Morden's hands, had endangered his world in the first place, and that knowledge had been enough to strip the memory of all glamour. Add to that a one-way ticket to the throne that meant his doom, and... Well, if G’Kar thought he was the only one who’d made sacrifices, he obviously had to think again!
Londo snorted, fighting down a stab of hurt pride. Ah, what had he expected, anyway? “Conversations in a prison cell: the start of a beautiful friendship?” What a delusion!
He snapped himself out of his brooding, only to realize he had taken G’Kar’s empty glass, and was twirling it absently around in his hand.
The glass. The drink. Surely that meant something, didn’t it?
There had been, he thought, no need for G’Kar to meet him in person. He could easily have sent a message and be done with it. But instead he’d come here, to talk – if not with Londo, then at least to him – and to share… a drink. Oh, yes, that was definitely something. And the spark of almost-humor that he’d seen in G’Kar’s eye at the last… that, perhaps, was something more.
He smiled, suddenly feeling a little less desperate.
Along with the surge of hope came a rush of exhaustion, and before he knew it tears were welling up behind his eyes, threatening to spill out. Mortified, he fought them down, but still the weariness was creeping up, nibbling at his defenses bit by sneaky bit.
Great Maker, he was tired… How long had it been since he got any real sleep? It felt like he hadn’t had a decent hour of rest ever since his time with Cartagia – though of course that couldn’t be true, or he would have cracked weeks ago.
But he was cracking, wasn’t he? Curse him, he had to get out of here! He had to get out right now, before he started blubbering like a baby over G’Kar’s – G’Kar, of all people! – gesture of goodwill, and disgraced himself in front of half the station!
Blindly, he slipped off his chair, started the long walk toward the exit, G’Kar’s glass still clutched in his hand. If the bartender cried after him, he didn’t hear it. If people stared at him oddly while he weaved his way outside, he didn’t see them.
What he also failed to see was G’Kar, standing stiffly in a corner, observing it all.
If he had seen, he might have made more of an effort to hold the tears at bay. As it was, he hardly registered when one of them broke free and started to slide down his cheek. The hand he brought up to brush it away moved more on instinct than out of any conscious need for dignity –
– but the Narn over in the darkness noticed, and shook his head in amazement.
Dear G’Quan. Whenever he thought he had Londo Mollari all figured out, the man would turn right around and become someone different altogether.
G’Kar shifted his weight a little, trying to decide what to do with this particular change.
He had to admit he had no idea.
In truth, his decision to stay and watch had been an act of pure impulse. He wasn’t generally the voyeuristic type – well, all right, apart from that one illicit foray into the Centauri’s mind, but that was years ago, and besides, the man had deserved it – so why, really, had he stayed?
Out of a penchant for disaster, most likely; he’d fully expected Mollari to start off on another drinking binge, induced by self-pity. Oh, part of him would have liked to see that. It would have meant he could pat himself on the back for his superiority, for the power he held over this sad, pathetic Centauri excuse for an ambassador, and go right back to hating him in that old, comfortingly familiar way.
But, craving familiarity though he was, when he watched Mollari make his way through the crowd, caught between tears and laughter, looking pale enough under the sickly lighting to seem almost fluorescent… Watching that instance of the man he’d thought he knew, G’Kar couldn’t find it in himself to hate.
No. If Mollari could still be moved by another living being, that meant he wasn’t beyond redemption. And if he could be moved by him, G’Kar, and show it while no one (he thought) was watching… that, perhaps, meant something more.
Pulling over a chair, G’Kar allowed himself a cautious smile.
Maybe, just maybe… Londo Mollari’s heart wasn’t quite empty after all.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-06-14 04:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-06-14 04:39 pm (UTC)They're my favorites too (could you tell? no, really? ;) ) so it was a joy to crawl into their heads while writing this...
(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-07 08:19 pm (UTC)And G'Kar at the end sounded just like G'Kar. Which is wicked hard, imo.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-07 08:39 pm (UTC)And thanks - though I'm wondering now if the description of brivari made me sound like an alcoholic. ;) You're right, G'Kar is very hard to put into words; such a mystery, that man.
Incidentally, what I told you when we first started talking still goes: you are welcome to critique as well as praise. I'm sure none of this is in any way perfect. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-07 08:59 pm (UTC)And I do read v.v. fast :) Commenting takes a little longer. As for criticism; I liked the G'Kar thoughts better, but I'm not sure why. (I really liked the voyeur comment; my mind raced off for a moment, then thought, oh yeah, Dust. Not what I was thinking...)
Londo is hard; he is so over the top and Out There, yet hidden as well. I don't have a good handle on him, so it's hard for me to say 'this is Londo, this is not Londo.' I'll think about it. I'm not terribly good at critiquing (much less beta'ing). Oddly, I can think what works and doesn't work for me, but find it hard to convey in words.
Oh, and not thinking alcoholic here, it just struck me as a good description of the feeling, and not one I remember coming across before.
Don't worry about reading my stuff; it's all up there and will stay there, no matter how cringe-worthy some it can be at times.
Do you spend a lot of time polishing phrases? It seems like you must, or you're a natural at turning them out. I'm fussing over my next b5 love entry and think I'll soon start rubbing off the finish if I continue. Sigh. The shorter pieces can be harder than the long ones.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-07 09:33 pm (UTC)I'm not that good at critiquing either, and even commenting in general I find hard. Usually I end up either squeeing incoherently, which is fun but not very useful; or I try to explain what I like (or dislike), which is useful but tends to come across as unnaturally clinical. I still have to find a balance between the two (so, should you notice that symptom; it's definitely me, not you).
Writing Londo vs G'Kar - strangely, I find it easier to crawl into Londo's head than into G'Kar's. Londo's motivation I can see and understand (if not always sympathize with), but with G'Kar I never quite know the deeper reasons for what he does. Incidentally, the latter I could also say about Lennier; much of what goes on inside him is a mystery to me.
By the way, what I've been meaning to ask you (in that other thread, but I might as well do it here): you already mentioned you hated Lennier dying in the Telepath War - and I agree, that was a lousy way of depriving us of closure. But what did you think about his action that started it all: his running away (though he did turn back, eventually) instead of saving John? Was it plausible to you, given the way his character had developed over the last seasons? (I'm asking it as an open question - I'll tell you my opinion later :) )
Polishing phrases is something I do endlessly. Not being a native speaker certainly has something to do with it, being a perfectionist also. So no, certainly not a natural - thanks, though. :) I have had moments where I could write two or three paragraphs fluently, without having to pause or look for words, and where I was actually happy with the result - but they're an exception rather than the rule. Also due to the endless polishing, I finished my b5_love fic contribution weeks ago, just to be on the safe side. (though I still have to hear back from my beta - she's a huge Vir fan, so I'm starting to wonder if she hates it and is just thinking about a way to tell me. *gulp*) Are you mostly a last-minute writer, or more the opposite? About short pieces: for myself, I always find it harder to tell a good story in a compact way, so yes, they can definitely be harder than longer stories.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-07 10:19 pm (UTC)I think Lennier's action was understandable, some of what led up to it was a little off, but the last act? Yeah, I believe the poor guy snapped. I have my own theories as to why then and why there, but (I really don't mean to keep pimping my own stuff, but writing stories is how I work out these questions!) it's mostly in all the stories tagged 'Lennier's Arc'--the one called 'At the Last' is the pertinent one. I love Lennier and spent most of a year writing those stories, filling in gaps and providing explanations for his fall from grace. I haven't done a Day of the Dead story yet; that's the only one I'm missing. So, you tell me your theory and I'll tell you mine...
I think you'd mentioned before you are not a native speaker. That really makes your turn of phrase more impressive.
Waiting for betas is a cold hard ball in the stomach, isn't it?
I didn't even send mine out this year. I often don't with short pieces. Cocky, or foolish? Uh, don't answer that!
I don't know how to answer the last question. Some stories comes out all at once in a rush. (Carry On was like that--a couple of hours maybe, then polishing). Others are planned out with timelines and outlines and maps (yes, really) and take forever. Sometimes I write both kinds at once. When I finish a long piece, I freeze up and can't write for a while, which leads to endless panicky jitters online.
Unnaturally clinical, huh? I have been accused of that often in RL. I just can't seem to do that correction with affection thing that betas do. I do try to comment, even if it's the incoherent 'Thanks!' because I know how easy it is to fall into the pit of self-doubt.
I have really got to go. Early day tomorrow, and it's late here.
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Date: 2009-09-10 03:44 am (UTC)He recalled how he had coughed and sputtered at the burning in his throat; then, as the alcohol dissipated, marveled at the sweetness that hid behind it, a flavor that floated up into his head and sank down toward his stomach, until all he could feel was a cottony heat that made it very, very difficult to breathe.
That's a great (and rather sexy!) metaphor for that scene, and I really loved Londo struggling with all those contradictory emotions: his pride hurt, yet pleased, yet somehow left wanting more as well. You do a great tribute to the actors' subtlety in that scene.
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Date: 2009-09-10 08:37 am (UTC)Very happy you enjoyed this - and yes, we're lucky to have been given such wonderful actors; without them, this scene wouldn't have been nearly so inspiring. I love writing Londo, as there's so much going on inside him that's deliciously contradictory; G'Kar is harder to get right, but I do my best!
Incidentally (since I assume you're looking for the slash as well as the ampersand ;) ), if you'd like some recs for those other authors I mentioned: at the very bottom of this (http://amatara.livejournal.com/1428.html?thread=2708#t2708) comment there's a short list of about a dozen of my favorite fics by them. Not all of the stories involve both Londo and G'Kar, and not all of them are slash, but many of them are.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-10 02:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-10 03:10 pm (UTC)I'm curious - which of the fics did you know already, and which ones were new to you? And if I can just rec one more of my own: Small Mercies (http://amatara.livejournal.com/3093.html) is angst with a slashy interlude (the best of both worlds, no? ;) ).
(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-12 04:25 am (UTC)Actually, I think everything you recced was completely new to me--I knew I loved Londo/G'Kar but had never gone looking for fic until I saw that secret, lol. I've added "Small Mercies" to my to-read list! I use an app called "Read it Later" which tosses everything I bookmark into a file and then gives me a bookmark at random when I click on it, so I don't know when I'll get to it (I have quite a backlog from summer vacations), but thank you so much for pointing me to it!