88 lines
4.7 KiB
Plaintext
88 lines
4.7 KiB
Plaintext
This is just an short "excerpt" of a story (which I may or may not ever
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write). It really is just one of those momentary inspirations which you
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want to write down.
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Anyway, if you feel like it, let me know what you think.
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Constructive criticism is welcomed.
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WARNING: There is no real storyline or plot here. It's just a fun
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"scene," if you will. Just a couple of minor crossovers.
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"Birds of a Feather"
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by Cliff Chen, August 1994
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She had made the run so many times before that they all blended
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into a countless jumble of memories. In her life, she had definitely
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logged more miles than any stewardess in history. Acting as a first class
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attendant on a fine craft like the SST had its benefits. She had met famous
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actors, politicians, and just a number of "normal" people who were remarkable
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in their own private ways.
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But she had never before been quite so attracted to anyone as the
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man in seat 3C. Oh, she had definitely met men who were close to absolute
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perfection physically as well as those who fulfilled her tastes mentally as
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well. But this guy was something else entirely.
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It wasn't the fact that he was handsome (and he certainly was!) or
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the polite tone of his requests that drew her attention back to him again
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and again. It was the expression on his face, or rather, non-expression.
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His brown hair remained neatly combed atop his head as he didn't
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read the paperback in his lap. His physique was unremarkable, clearly a fit
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man in his twenties or thirties.
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But that look! She knew it well. The way he stared off into space
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as if waiting for some revelation to strut in, saying "Sorry, I was late,
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but I was in the loo." He seemed to have the weight of the world...no, the
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universe on his shoulders. He reminded her very much of someone in her
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past.
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Knowing she found someone who would probably understand her, she
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set her shoulders and moved down the aisle towards him.
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Fox Mulder sat aboard the Concorde with a preternatural stillness.
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He reviewed the situation over and over in his head. "Deep Throat" was
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gone as was the X-Files division. Scully transferred to the forensic
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science department, maybe she'll be happier there. And himself, ordered to
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take a indefinite vacation (expenses paid) until he felt ready to return to
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work, "normal" work, that is. So, he chose to see some old friends from
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his days in England. The fact that some of those old friends were with the
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Talamasca was just "coincidence."
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The book in his lap didn't interest him tonight, not much did,
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except for finding a way to continue his work on the X-Files. It was sent
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to him by one of the friends he was going to visit. _The Vampire Lestat_.
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A good read, but his friend wondered just how fictitious it was. No doubt,
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Scully would have gotten in a good jab over that one.
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His FBI training had cause him to notice the flight attendant's
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approach long before she arrived, but he thought nothing of it until she
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stopped before him and sat down in the seat opposite the aisle.
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He appraised her quickly. Not unattractive. Brown hair with a
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slight hint of red.
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"Hi," she started, "is there anything I can do for you, Mr....?"
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Mulder was pleasantly surprised to hear a British accent in her
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voice. He always did have an affinity for it since Phoe...his Oxford days.
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"Mulder," he responded.
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"No first name?" she smiled.
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"There is one, but I don't use it." he answered.
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"Very well, Mr. Mulder, was there anything you wished?"
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"Many things, but I suppose I can only make three?" he grinned,
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somewhat relieved for the break in his thoughtful silence. "Oh, and please,
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just Mulder," he added quickly.
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She laughed. "Ok, Mulder. What I meant was, you looked like
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someone who needed to get something off his chest. And these nighttime
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flights tend to drag without conversation."
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He sighed, reminded once more of the cause of his brooding. "It
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would be nice, but I doubt you'd believe a word of it, if I told you."
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"I think you'd be surprised at what I would believe," she replied,
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with a glimmer in her eye.
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"Trust me. My partner doesn't believe what she's seen with her own
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eyes. Ms....?"
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She visibly relaxed, as if suddenly deciding she could be
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comfortable around him. "Miss. Jovanka. Tegan Jovanka. Well, let me tell
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you an outrageous story, and then we'll see if you feel like telling me
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yours. It all began on my first day of work, when my aunt's car got a flat
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next to a police call box..."
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The character Tegan Jovanka is the property of the BBC and is used here
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without permission. References to the "Talamasca" are also made without
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the consent of Anne Rice.
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