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Entry tags:
Fic: Inheritance / Fic: Red-Handed
Advent fics! I have not forsaken you! I am just ... writing you a month late...
Title: Inheritance
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Rating: G
Characters: Ozai, Iroh
Summary: Ozai doesn't see any point to exchanging gifts. Iroh is more enthusiastic.
Count: 298 words
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
virusq (from the fic request post), who asked for Ozai and Iroh + secret Santas. I took that and loosely worked it into a gift exchange based on Chinese New Year traditions; hopefully I have not stomped too embarrassingly on any traditions!
---
"It is a saber-tooth moose-lion!" Iroh explains joyfully.
His younger brother shoots him the blank look that Iroh has grown all too accustomed to. "I know what a saber-tooth moose-lion is," he says, politely scornful. "Why are you giving it to me?"
Iroh ignores him. It is, quite honestly, sometimes the best course of action. “When you pull the string, its saber-teeth move!” he enthuses, and he tugs the toy's string to demonstrate.
Ozai stares at him.
Iroh sighs. He is only seventeen, but no one can make him feel weary and old like Ozai. “It is the New Year, Ozai.”
“We don't give gifts,” Ozai says, far too matter-of-fact for a young boy. “We receive them, from members of lesser households. And they are never toys.”
“I chose it as a gift for you, from the markets of North Chung-Ling.” Iroh pulls the string again, this time in a quick rhythm to make it look like the moose-lion is talking. “I thought that you would like it.”
That was quite clearly the wrong thing to say.
“I,” says small Ozai, quivering with fury, “am too old for toys,” and then he spins on his heel and stalks off, tiny hands clenched into fists by his sides.
Iroh's words must have only served as a reminder of the fact that their father took Iroh on his survey of the northern townships – that Iroh is the crown prince who will become a general in the Fire Nation's proud army in only a few years – and that Ozai, despite all of his pleas and all of his passion, was left behind.
Iroh wishes he had thought of any of that before he spoke, as he watches Ozai storm away through the gardens.
Finally, Iroh lifts the saber-tooth moose-lion and regards it seriously. “Well,” he says. “I guess that means I get to keep you!”
Title: Red-Handed
Fandom: Bones
Rating: PG
Characters: Camille Saroyan, Angela Montenegro
Summary: Cam and Angela have a late-night bonding moment soon after Cam is hired.
Count: 675 words
Notes: Written forsummerstorm (from the fic request post), who asked for Cam and Angela (or Cam/Angela) + museum security.
---
Cam stares at the three people standing in front of her desk. Angela seems preoccupied by watching the wall just to the left of Cam's head, her mouth curved into a rueful moue that belies the innocence she's trying to project; the two security guards look, in turn, tired/bored and stern.
"Yes," Cam says, finally, recovering from the initial surprise. "Ms. Montenegro is one of my employees; thank you for your diligence, gentlemen, but the paintings in the Impressionist wing are safe for the evening."
The security guard who Cam has privately named Tired/Bored nods to her, seemingly satisfied, and turns to leave, but Stern-Face lingers.
"--And I will make very sure that it doesn't happen again," Cam adds, and that is apparently enough for the security guard; he says, "Okay, ma'am," tips his hand to his cap, and follows his counterpart through the door and back out into the lab.
"Wow," Angela says, crossing her arms and looking far too at-ease. "That guy takes his job way too seriously."
Cam raises her eyebrows in her very best (highly effective) you must be joking; also, explain yourself immediately look.
Angela, to her credit, shifts uncomfortably. "Hey, how was I supposed to know that wing was off-limits after hours?" she asks. "The doors were wide open."
"Meanwhile, I have yet to understand what you were doing in that wing at," Cam checks her watch, "two-forty-seven in the morning."
"I was here, working on the Letra facial reconstruction," Angela says, and then her sassy at-ease voice falters, just enough for Cam to notice it. The case has been rough on Cam's entire new team; the victim is currently believed to be six-year-old Olivia Letra. They've all been burning the midnight oil to positively identify her and find her killer. Cam suspects that Dr. Brennan has fallen asleep on her desk in her own office.
"And I just -- I needed a break, okay?" Angela says. "I had to look at something--" she sighs, and then sweeps a hand in a tight circle, "beautiful and hopeful, that didn't have anything to do with a little girl's crushed skull, for a while. I left my badge in my office because I didn't think I was gonna get collared by Starsky and Hutch."
Cam presses the tips of her fingers against her quirk of a smile, to hide it. "Okay," she says. "I'm not going to ask how you got into that wing in the first place." She raises her hand, palm out. "I don't want to know. All I'm going to ask is that if you do any further searching for truth, beauty, and the American way, you bring your badge with you."
Angela studies her for several long seconds, her gaze sharp and assessing. Cam is reminded once again that she's the new kid in a cohesive group that seems to have been working very smoothly even before she arrived. "That seems fair," Angela says, finally.
"I do strive for fairness," Cam says wryly, and she glances down at the toxicology report spread out across her desk.
"Okay. I'll just -- " Angela takes a step backward and gestures toward the door. "--go and find that badge, then. Happy murderer-finding."
When she's gone, Cam finally allows herself a quiet whuff of laughter, and then she shakes her head to herself and settles down to studying the report again.
"Cam?" Angela's voice asks, and Cam says, "Hm?" without glancing up.
"Do you want some coffee?" At that, Cam does look up; Angela is leaning in the doorway, smiling faintly.
"Oh, dear God," Cam says, heartfelt, clutching at the edge of her desk. "You have coffee?"
"No," Angela says blithely. "But Brennan does, and I'm getting pretty good at using her office without waking her up." Angela's smile strengthens and she steps away from the doorframe with a saucy hip pop. "I mean, I'm a suspected art thief-slash-felon, right? Might as well put that sneakiness to good use."
"Well," says Cam, and then she laughs outright; "if you're sure Dr. Brennan won't mind."
"If she minds, she shouldn't buy the good stuff and then tell me where it is," Angela says practically, and she beckons Cam in.
Title: Inheritance
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Rating: G
Characters: Ozai, Iroh
Summary: Ozai doesn't see any point to exchanging gifts. Iroh is more enthusiastic.
Count: 298 words
Notes: Written for
virusq (from the fic request post), who asked for Ozai and Iroh + secret Santas. I took that and loosely worked it into a gift exchange based on Chinese New Year traditions; hopefully I have not stomped too embarrassingly on any traditions!---
"It is a saber-tooth moose-lion!" Iroh explains joyfully.
His younger brother shoots him the blank look that Iroh has grown all too accustomed to. "I know what a saber-tooth moose-lion is," he says, politely scornful. "Why are you giving it to me?"
Iroh ignores him. It is, quite honestly, sometimes the best course of action. “When you pull the string, its saber-teeth move!” he enthuses, and he tugs the toy's string to demonstrate.
Ozai stares at him.
Iroh sighs. He is only seventeen, but no one can make him feel weary and old like Ozai. “It is the New Year, Ozai.”
“We don't give gifts,” Ozai says, far too matter-of-fact for a young boy. “We receive them, from members of lesser households. And they are never toys.”
“I chose it as a gift for you, from the markets of North Chung-Ling.” Iroh pulls the string again, this time in a quick rhythm to make it look like the moose-lion is talking. “I thought that you would like it.”
That was quite clearly the wrong thing to say.
“I,” says small Ozai, quivering with fury, “am too old for toys,” and then he spins on his heel and stalks off, tiny hands clenched into fists by his sides.
Iroh's words must have only served as a reminder of the fact that their father took Iroh on his survey of the northern townships – that Iroh is the crown prince who will become a general in the Fire Nation's proud army in only a few years – and that Ozai, despite all of his pleas and all of his passion, was left behind.
Iroh wishes he had thought of any of that before he spoke, as he watches Ozai storm away through the gardens.
Finally, Iroh lifts the saber-tooth moose-lion and regards it seriously. “Well,” he says. “I guess that means I get to keep you!”
Title: Red-Handed
Fandom: Bones
Rating: PG
Characters: Camille Saroyan, Angela Montenegro
Summary: Cam and Angela have a late-night bonding moment soon after Cam is hired.
Count: 675 words
Notes: Written for
summerstorm (from the fic request post), who asked for Cam and Angela (or Cam/Angela) + museum security.---
Cam stares at the three people standing in front of her desk. Angela seems preoccupied by watching the wall just to the left of Cam's head, her mouth curved into a rueful moue that belies the innocence she's trying to project; the two security guards look, in turn, tired/bored and stern.
"Yes," Cam says, finally, recovering from the initial surprise. "Ms. Montenegro is one of my employees; thank you for your diligence, gentlemen, but the paintings in the Impressionist wing are safe for the evening."
The security guard who Cam has privately named Tired/Bored nods to her, seemingly satisfied, and turns to leave, but Stern-Face lingers.
"--And I will make very sure that it doesn't happen again," Cam adds, and that is apparently enough for the security guard; he says, "Okay, ma'am," tips his hand to his cap, and follows his counterpart through the door and back out into the lab.
"Wow," Angela says, crossing her arms and looking far too at-ease. "That guy takes his job way too seriously."
Cam raises her eyebrows in her very best (highly effective) you must be joking; also, explain yourself immediately look.
Angela, to her credit, shifts uncomfortably. "Hey, how was I supposed to know that wing was off-limits after hours?" she asks. "The doors were wide open."
"Meanwhile, I have yet to understand what you were doing in that wing at," Cam checks her watch, "two-forty-seven in the morning."
"I was here, working on the Letra facial reconstruction," Angela says, and then her sassy at-ease voice falters, just enough for Cam to notice it. The case has been rough on Cam's entire new team; the victim is currently believed to be six-year-old Olivia Letra. They've all been burning the midnight oil to positively identify her and find her killer. Cam suspects that Dr. Brennan has fallen asleep on her desk in her own office.
"And I just -- I needed a break, okay?" Angela says. "I had to look at something--" she sighs, and then sweeps a hand in a tight circle, "beautiful and hopeful, that didn't have anything to do with a little girl's crushed skull, for a while. I left my badge in my office because I didn't think I was gonna get collared by Starsky and Hutch."
Cam presses the tips of her fingers against her quirk of a smile, to hide it. "Okay," she says. "I'm not going to ask how you got into that wing in the first place." She raises her hand, palm out. "I don't want to know. All I'm going to ask is that if you do any further searching for truth, beauty, and the American way, you bring your badge with you."
Angela studies her for several long seconds, her gaze sharp and assessing. Cam is reminded once again that she's the new kid in a cohesive group that seems to have been working very smoothly even before she arrived. "That seems fair," Angela says, finally.
"I do strive for fairness," Cam says wryly, and she glances down at the toxicology report spread out across her desk.
"Okay. I'll just -- " Angela takes a step backward and gestures toward the door. "--go and find that badge, then. Happy murderer-finding."
When she's gone, Cam finally allows herself a quiet whuff of laughter, and then she shakes her head to herself and settles down to studying the report again.
"Cam?" Angela's voice asks, and Cam says, "Hm?" without glancing up.
"Do you want some coffee?" At that, Cam does look up; Angela is leaning in the doorway, smiling faintly.
"Oh, dear God," Cam says, heartfelt, clutching at the edge of her desk. "You have coffee?"
"No," Angela says blithely. "But Brennan does, and I'm getting pretty good at using her office without waking her up." Angela's smile strengthens and she steps away from the doorframe with a saucy hip pop. "I mean, I'm a suspected art thief-slash-felon, right? Might as well put that sneakiness to good use."
"Well," says Cam, and then she laughs outright; "if you're sure Dr. Brennan won't mind."
"If she minds, she shouldn't buy the good stuff and then tell me where it is," Angela says practically, and she beckons Cam in.