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Rewatched the Battlestar Galactica mini...
And while they were obviously trying to plan for long term, there are... still bits that make me go, "um, mis-match between mini and season one, guys." But *shrug* whatever.
In the meantime, can I *please* have a Kara Thrace of my very own?
And, two random drabbles.
From the hangar deck, right after Tyrol tells Starbuck about Apollo....
They are stripping away everything that matters. Family, friends, home. Lovers. Colleagues. Prosner. Apollo. Sharon. Cally stands on the deck and watches Tyrol throttle everything down. Back to work, he snaps.
Back to work. Where you can forget, for a short time, that the Cylons have destroyed everything.
Where she can bury her grief and the stench of burnt skin, and the ice-cold vacuum of space in mechanical theory, moving parts that she understands like the back of her hand.
Later, they can grieve, later, she can wonder at the beautiful logic that has left her people destitute and homeless.
=-=-
Adama's quarters, I think, after Leoben.
He smells like blood. Cloying, sweet, metallic and making his nostrils flare. Minutes (more like an hour) ago, he bludgeoned what looked like a man to death. A young man, who might have been useful. The blood flew up, hot and already cooling as it sprayed him.
Cylons don't have souls, he reminds himself.
And there are better things to think of. Like his son, who's alive.
The dirt and ash still coat his skin, but they wiped most of the blood away. He can still smell it, as he grabs onto his son. And believes in the Gods again.
In the meantime, can I *please* have a Kara Thrace of my very own?
And, two random drabbles.
From the hangar deck, right after Tyrol tells Starbuck about Apollo....
They are stripping away everything that matters. Family, friends, home. Lovers. Colleagues. Prosner. Apollo. Sharon. Cally stands on the deck and watches Tyrol throttle everything down. Back to work, he snaps.
Back to work. Where you can forget, for a short time, that the Cylons have destroyed everything.
Where she can bury her grief and the stench of burnt skin, and the ice-cold vacuum of space in mechanical theory, moving parts that she understands like the back of her hand.
Later, they can grieve, later, she can wonder at the beautiful logic that has left her people destitute and homeless.
=-=-
Adama's quarters, I think, after Leoben.
He smells like blood. Cloying, sweet, metallic and making his nostrils flare. Minutes (more like an hour) ago, he bludgeoned what looked like a man to death. A young man, who might have been useful. The blood flew up, hot and already cooling as it sprayed him.
Cylons don't have souls, he reminds himself.
And there are better things to think of. Like his son, who's alive.
The dirt and ash still coat his skin, but they wiped most of the blood away. He can still smell it, as he grabs onto his son. And believes in the Gods again.
no subject
Hah! Bad school computer.
*steals Starbuck and runs off*
er...