Prompting Post V

[cabinpres_fic]

Please see the most recent MOD NOTE and ADDENDUM

(updated 5 July)

Welcome everybody. How you got here I have no idea but thank you for coming and welcome again, nonetheless . As you may have gathered this is a Fic Prompting Meme dedicated solely to the hilarious and oh-so-addictive BBC Radio 4 sitcom - Cabin Pressure. I'm aiming for this to be pretty anything goes - but in order for everything to run smoothly, there are a few guidelines. Don't worry - they're not too restrictive.

FILLING GUIDELINES

As you probably all know - our meme now has it's very own database created and maintained by the great Enigel. It both catalogues each and every prompt that we post and provides links to fills. You can find it here: Google Spreadsheet

We also have a Pinboard archive which has been put in place by the lovely oxfordtweed in the place of our late Delicious Archive. This Archive contains a list of all the prompts this meme has to offer - you can find it here: Pinboard Archive

This is a great step forward in making our meme just a little more organised (but not too organised of course. This is Cabin Pressure) which is always a good thing.

So in order to make things easier to archive - Please nest your fills.

This can be done by either posting each part as a reply to that part's immediate predecessor, OR by replying each time to Part I OR - well you get the idea :D

It makes it simpler for Enigel and myself to link fills in a clean and clear manner. Following these guildelines will be very much appreciated guys :D

REPROMPTING

Reprompting is allowed but please include the URL of the original prompt when you do so. It will make it infinitely more easy to Archive which would make both Enigel and I very happy :)

As for everything else

1. Be respectful to one another. Disagreements are fine, but not everything disagreeable is trolling. If you suspect someone of trolling, just ignore it. If you cannot respond to a comment without attacking or trolling someone else, keep it to yourself.


2. No bashing prompts. It might not be your cup of tea - but obviously someone wants it enough to go to the effort of requesting it. So just scroll past it.


3. Prompt away as much as you like guys - seriously, go wild - but please try to fill as well.

NEW - If your fill includes a major element that veers from the original prompt (crossovers, established universes, kinks, et cetera), please take a few moments to check with the OP that such additions are welcome. This has caused problems in the past and it only takes a few moments of your time.

4. Please no RPF. I'm not trying to oppress you RPF writers and enthusiasts, I would just really like to avoid any legal problems.


5. When you post a fill (or post a new part of a WIP) please go over to the Filled Prompts Post (if it is complete) or the WIP Post (if there are still more parts to come) and, following each post's guideline's, post a link to this fill or new part.

REALLY IMPORTANT ADDENDUM

According to numerous Child Safety laws it is illegal to provide pornographic material to minors. Seeing that the majority of the stuff we have here is rather adult in nature, this Meme is consequently an 18+ zone. Failing to comply to this rule could result in the Meme getting shut down. So if you're here and you're under 18 please back button now.

+ Please do not post anything regarding minors in a sexual situation. It really doesn't matter how tasteful or crass it is, there are laws that classify that sort of thing as child pornography and as such, I'm afraid we're going to have to go with the attitude that safe is better than sorry.

It really is VERY important that these rules are upheld as the consequences are severe.

Other than that - go crazy guys. Any problems please just message me and I'll try my best to work it out.



Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Prompt Index

Current Prompt Post | Current Chatter Post | WIP Post | Filled Prompts Post | Searching Post | Orphan Post | Page-a-Mod Post | FAQ | Beta/Concrit Post
cabin_pressure @ LJ | Cabin Pressure @ AO3 | IRC Chat @ irc.ecnet.org #FittonATC

Comments

Fill 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

Tuesday and I bring you a sub par part 3.
Boooom.
Author cannot write dialogue.


3/?

As the stories of children go, monsters of creatures that live in the dark and the damp, in the dusty corners and closets, must be vanquished, for they steal away the smiles of children, the light of day. Draws from them screams, of terror and fear instead.

He is of no exception.

“The old girl has finally given up, now?”

He tries to start up the van, in vain. She refuses to budge, deciding that enough was enough for a day. Never mind that flight standby was over and that everyone was looking forwards to going home for a good rest, she wasn’t going anywhere in the near future – and neither would Martin.

“Damn it.” He nearly kicks the van, throws the keys down, but he doesn’t. He restrains himself, and settles for a frustrated growl instead.

“It looks like Sir could do with some help, if I am not mistaken. Which, I rarely am,” Douglas was saying behind him. “Shall I give you a lift home?”

He tries again, and sighs when the van remains stubborn. “C-could you? I mean, if- if its not trouble. I-I can walk home too.”

“It is always nice to have someone owe you a favour,” his first officer simply sounded pleased. “It is of no trouble, at all. Who would have the heart to make our poor Sir walk for miles on foot, when the sky is about to break open? Unless, of course, if Sir is keen on walking for miles on foot in harsh weather conditions, I am in no position to dissuade him. I am, however, not quite certain about the medics in the ambulance that would have to fetch him, though… “

“Alright, Douglas,” he shut the door of the Lexus with a little too much force than was necessary. Clouds rolled across the sky, a dark steel grey, a storm brewing in the distance. He wouldn’t want to be caught in this rain. “Thank you, I mean.”

“Sir is very much welcome.”

The first few minutes of the drive was quiet. Pleasant, even. Opera was plying softly, the sounds of traffic muted by the glass as people hurried on their ways, the wind at their heels, chasing and nipping. Go home, go home, it whistles, through cracks and rustling trees and the flapping of jackets and coats. It is quiet, however, inside the car, and he feels calm. Peaceful.

“Could you – drop me by the florist?” he speaks into the silence, over the sound of the woman’s soprano.

“The florist. May I ask why?”

“The one near the hospital,” he says. “Just getting a flower.”

He is aware of when Douglas begins to take interest, sensing rather than seeing his gaze on him through the rear view mirror.

“So. Sir has finally found someone.”

He senses the questions, colours at the implication. “No, nothing like that. Nothing like that at all.”

Douglas does not speak, allowing his silence to speak for him instead. The woman continues to sing, her voice dipping gently.

“It’s just, for a girl. She’s barely 10. She hates storms.” His eyes flicker upwards to the rolling clouds, the lightning in the far distance.

“Good God, Martin.”

“Douglas. She has leukemia.” He turns back to the window in the embarrassed silence. “I volunteer at the hospital.”

The rest of the ride was silent, the opera soft between them, until the Lexus pulls up smoothly outside the florist. The clouds looked worryingly solid overhead, the only few pedestrians scurrying home, head bowed against the wind.

“Thank you.” Martin picked up his bags, opening his side of the door. “Get home safely, I guess. Bad storm.”

Hurrying into the florist, he sighs quietly, before beginning his task. He had settled on a stalk of sunflower with a giant, bobbing cheerful head when a hand plucked it out of his grasp.

“Two sunflowers, please,” Douglas says.

“Douglas, what are you doing here?” Martin hissed.

“I just thought that I could… “ Douglas waved a hand about, vague. “I have a daughter about her age, too.”

It was the closest to an apology that Douglas would make, and Martin sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “Fine, but please just don’t upset anybody.”

“Ah, Sir wounds me,” Douglas sighs.


The hospital was a walking distance away, with Martin shielding and protecting the flowers from the wind. It was an unplanned visit, but he was loath to let Julia be alone on her own in a storm like this one in the hospital. It wasn’t her time yet, and if she continues to be strong, it would be long in coming. It was the worst, seeing children confined to hospital beds, unable to leave, to live their dreams. He knows the taste of their souls, the uncomplicated sweetness, the taste clean, bright for a moment before it is swallowed, the regret that wells in him that they couldn’t have lived for just a little longer, if just to fall in love with the world outside the hospital once more.

Douglas reveals himself to be surprisingly good with children, but it isn’t entirely unexpected, with him being the father of a few himself. Martin smiles, and receives a warning look in return from his first officer. He would not speak of this, wouldn’t think to, and simply leaves the two sunflowers bobbing in a vase by the bedside with Julia’s brave smile as the first raindrop hits the windows.

He walks, down the halls, checks in with the patients. Tries not to think of them as friends, for it would be inappropriate. A couple of them discharged, a couple expired, and he murmurs his condolences to no one in particular. Inside, he is thankful, if only because their souls were spared the fate of being devoured. Perhaps they found salvation, perhaps not. He never knows, and never finds out. He does not want to add to the guilt in his chest, and leaves the ‘what-if’s alone.

Douglas finds him after a while, a child’s drawing neatly folded and tucked into his pocket. “Is this what you do all the time?”

He shrugs. “A little of this, a little of that. I mostly talk to them. Amuse the children. A-and, you know…”

“I can see how that might be rewarding,” Douglas says, but makes no usual jibe about Martin needing to prove himself useful or overly useful in some cases to others.

Douglas follows him around, later, as he moves from room to room, pouring a glass of water for one, adjusting the bed for another, the little things that nurses neglect to do sometimes. He is aware of Douglas’ eyes on him, of his hovering presence behind him. It is a quiet day, so far, as the thunder rumbles and the rain falls heavier outside, pelting against clear glass panels and running down in clear rivulets. The world outside distorts, and blurs, a picture of vague shapes and colours, but inside, they are safe, and he tucks the patients in, drawing the sheets up to their chins.

“I’ll best be off,” Douglas clears his throat, with a glance at his watch. Martin nods, fluffing up a pillow for someone. Douglas has no interest in this, in what he does here. There is nothing here that he can hold against him except for the displayed kindness that he sees.

“Right, uh, thanks, I guess? See you tomorrow.” He nods, a little awkwardly, straightens up. They do not have a reason to linger, to stay. Not for the whole and healthy.

Douglas nods, and his footsteps fade gradually down the halls. He watches him go, thinks of the many people who walk into the hospital and never make it out. He is never quite one for the philosophical, but when the mood does strike, it turns him maudlin, and sick. He blames it on the rain.

He continues his round, his self assigned route, nodding to the nurses that walk by. It is still raining outside, and there is only his empty attic waiting for him at home, at the end of every day. It would be cold today, and he would have to bring out his extra blankets. The heater was broken the other day, and he does not look forward to the cold shower later. The hospital is equally desolate, and cold, but he takes comfort in the presence of others around him.

He doesn’t see it until he looks up from where he was surveying his own feet. Hovering near a doorway, at the end of the corridor close to the windows. The colours were still vibrant, still bright, purple bleeding into pink and blue, a tinge of yellow around the edges. He tilts his head. The corridor is empty, silent. There is no one to see him, the walls his silent witness, and he approaches, quietly, reaching out a hand to brush against it, seeing rather than feeling when it senses him and falls into his cupped hands.

A woman, two floors beneath him. It wasn’t a painful death, and a rather quick one, considering the alternative. He watches it, watches it morph in his hands, colours interchanging, a pool of brightness that he cannot compare to, feels the warmth from it, even though that is just his imagination – souls are merely souls, and nothing else. He sighs, quietly, just once. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, as he brings the cupped hands to his lips, and drinks, tipping it back. It flickers, once, but he does not notice. The gentle sweetness spreads across his tongue, and he tastes, stands witness to the sorrows in her life, the regrets, the anger. There is sourness, and bitterness, and something curiously tart and sweet. He closes his eyes, savours it, before swallowing it, condemning it to a darkness that it will not return from.

He feels the hunger twist, and settle down. Its teeth remain sharp, but it is slightly more bearable, a little more tolerable.

He opens his eyes, and sees Douglas standing a distance away, watching him.

Time freezes, for the two of them, his heart thudding in his chest, painful. Douglas’ eyes glances at his hands, and back to him, the first officer’s expression unreadable.

“Martin,” he begins, quietly, approaching Martin slowly as one might an injured woodland animal.

Martin holds still, and lets him approach, tense as a violin string. He tries to smile, and fails. Sees Douglas take in the sterile hospital corridor, the rooms, and the patients beyond.

“Martin,” he says again, carefully, as though treading on thin ice, a hand reaching out slowly.

He had seen, and had guessed. Sees the wary look in his first officer’s eyes, and trembles, feeling sick and dizzy all at once. He isn’t stupid. He would know. He already knows, he knows.

Martin flees.

Re: Fill 3/?

[(Anonymous)]

askjfjsfglkjsf

Oh god. Martin.
Oh god. Douglas.
Oh god.

I need more, please.