apocalypsos | (no subject) (Reply)

abysstopheles' questions ...
1. Who are you, how do i know you, and what have you written?
Answer: A long, long time ago, in a cow patch far, far away, I started writing fanfic. First I wrote Highlander fanfic, but that was wretched Mary Sue fodder and I moved on. Then I wrote Buffy fanfic, but then that, too, became Mary Sue fodder (though not mine, unfortunately), and I moved on once again. And now, when I feel the need to fic, I write X-Men fic, usually movieverse because, well, I'm lazy and there's less to research. All of my stories are up at Fanfiction.net, and the last series I've worked on has been the Xavier Mansion Diaries. And I swear on the car of the guy who drove past us today with the CTHULHU license plate, I will finish that series. Argh.

2. Next season of Angel - bold new direction or horrible downward spiral?
Answer: I'd like to think it's not a horrible downward spiral, but hey, as long as Connor doesn't skank Cordelia again, I'm happy. (Spike getting naked would be an added bonus, but I can safely assure that my hormones made me type that.)

3. What would it take for you to name your first daughter Hermione?
Answer: A billion dollars and about as much liquor. (Middle name, maybe. Just to see half of my book-deprived family try to pronounce it.)

4. Siamese cats have a foul temper. True or false, and if the answer is 'false', how much are the little demon-spawn paying you?
Answer: False, Siamese cats are terribly sweet creatures who simply want to be petted and stroked and talked to, and I am most definitely not being paid for saying that, as I have been through a long and involved brainwashing process since I was a fetus.

5. Three websites you check religiously.
Answer. LiveJournal (some would say unfortunately), Ogrish, and Television Without Pity.

*happy sigh* God, it's good to be ensconced in LJ again after a long day of work. I should have known it would be bad, too, because I started out today by seeing the photo of Schwartzenegger in a Speedo. You know, I've called in sick to work ... hell, I've even called in dead ... but never in my life have I been tempted to call in hysterically blind.

I don't even get why the place I'm working even needs temps, though. I spent two hours at the end of the day looking up fake employee names I ripped from TV and movies. I even found a Randy Giles working at the company, and I think I should get a pony for physically restraining myself from leaping from my seat, racing up five flights of stairs and sniffing around for the cuddly scent of tweed.

I also saw the name Robert Logan on one list, and my plot bunnies started spawning as if someone spiked their carrots with Viagra. And the next thing I know, I had the mental image of Movie!Bobby and Movie!Logan sitting together on a bed in a Las Vegas hotel room one morning looking absolutely terrified and avoiding eye contact.

"Logan?"
"Yeah?"
"How much did we drink last night?"
"Stopped counting after the second keg."
"Oh. *pause* Logan?"
"Yeah?"
"Did we ... um ... did we do what I think we did last night?"
"It's only legal in Toronto, kid."
"Oh, thank God."