BSG - In the Still of the Night
Jul. 29th, 2005 09:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hackthis_archiveOh, look, a new fandom. Shiny!
Inspired by this image (provided by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
meret) and dedicated to serialkarma and lyra_sena…
Battlestar Galactica
Spoilers for 'Valley of Darkness'
In the Still of the Night
Kara's dog tags rattle in the valley between her breasts. They stick damply to her skin as she gets to her feet, pointedly not turning back to gaze at him.
She knows what Zak looks like asleep; she could close her eyes every night for the rest of her life and see him effortlessly. It's strange and worrisome, and so unlike her to be so smitten. If Eros has shot her in the ass, she's going to be frakking pissed off. Stupid frakking gods.
She pauses by her bureau of drawers and scrounges for her lighter and cutter. Kara can't see for shit in the dark, but she can identify her lighter by touch and she makes certain to keep her cigars by the bed. Her lips are dry, and the cigar pulls at the tender skin over them as she clips and lights.
She puffs on the cigar lightly, taking pleasure in the bright yellow flame of fire. Zak snorts in his sleep, and she smirks to herself, catching her reflection in the mirror. She looks good; she's not the sort to obsess about her body. She's far more interested in the cigar rolling between her fingertips, the soft brown wrapping crinkles between her fingers. The embers burn bright and orange, a swirl of circles that she's already immortalized on her wall in mustard and navy.
She likes to paint after sex, although it's not as much about like as it is about need. Painting is a compulsion as primal and necessary and right as anything she does in the cockpit. Sex with Zak is primal too, but that's a coupling, a coming together with bodies and sweat and shouting, and her painting, like her flying, is her own. It's just about her. She likes that. She doesn't give a flying frak if other people like her art, or if they think it's shit, she creates on her own. That's what it's always about.
At the end of the day, Kara always does things on her own.
She prefers to paint while Zak's sleeping. It's not that she's self-conscious about her painting. Kara's dad didn't raise any insecure girlie girl who's afraid to get her frakking feelings hurt. She's not embarrassed about her art either, it wouldn't be all over the house otherwise -– then again, she's not sure she would know embarrassment if it wore a sign and did a dance outside the Temple of Hera.
Kara's painting is her thing though, and she's possessive of it. She shares everything else with Zak, and she shares Zak with everyone; the feeling of cool oil paint sliding between her fingers and smearing on her naked skin is hers alone.
The smell of oils and turpentine and the way the burnt umber slides along the cracked ridges of her walls is what she lives for in the middle of the night. More than alcohol or her truck, the smell of paint and the way she holds her paint brush makes her feel alive. There are always smears of ochre and verdant on her breasts, and she's proud of them. She's proud of the things she makes, and her love for them is up there with her jacket and her tags and the cigars that she buys from Bacchus' Hookah Shoppe.
When she was little, her dad used to tell her stories about the great artists who came from miles around to paint for the gods of Kobol. He said they streamed into the city from the six paths that led out of the city of the Gods, and that Apollo blessed them with talent the way he had blessed her. Her dad said that she should always be grateful for her talents –- except that Kara's dad never wanted her to be an artist. Of course, Kara's dad's not a famous musician to her; he's just dad, and he said the creative arts were too stressful for anyone, let alone his little girl.
She supposes it's funny that he felt safer with her flying a military plane than he did with her painting, but she guess that that's just how parents are.
Her mother bought Kara her first set of paints three days after sixth birthday, and two days after Kara announced that she was going to grow up to be the best pilot in the galaxy. Her mom hoped she would forget about the flying thing. Her dad bought her a tiny sim computer and a series of model airplanes so she could learn everything there was to know about planes.
They always wanted her to choose, to commit to one or the other, but Kara never understood why she ought to. This is why she weaves her way through her apartment in the dark, ducking and dodging and knowing exactly how far away each object of furniture is from her bare legs. Her paints wait for her in the dark like a lover, and she comes to them willingly, lured by their call.
Kara gets most of her spending money by winning card games, because canvases are expensive and she has cigars to buy. She paints everything else in the house before she paints her canvases, because there's so much wall space and it's the whole reason she chose this apartment in the first place. The landlady said she didn't care if she made a mess of the walls once she found out that Kara was a pilot with the fleet. And she really didn't care once she found out about Kara's dad – but Kara's never really cared about that.
All Kara's ever cared about is her parents and her flying and her art. And Zak. She paints because she can, and because it's a lot easier for her to express herself with her fingers and her paints than it is to say whatever's on her mind. She's real good with expressing herself with her hands though, no one would ever deny that.
Her eyes adjust to the moonlight streaming in around the same time that she reaches her destination, and she takes a deep puff of her cigar, smiling to herself she contemplates what she's going to paint tonight.
Methodically
Smoking my
Cigarette
With every breath
I breathe
All the day
With every delicious
Sip
I drink away the night
Stroking my hair to
The beat of his heart
Watching a
Boy turn
Into a
Man
-end-
Beta by the fantabulousserialkarma
Inspired by this image (provided by
meret) and dedicated to serialkarma and lyra_sena…Battlestar Galactica
Spoilers for 'Valley of Darkness'
In the Still of the Night
Kara's dog tags rattle in the valley between her breasts. They stick damply to her skin as she gets to her feet, pointedly not turning back to gaze at him.
She knows what Zak looks like asleep; she could close her eyes every night for the rest of her life and see him effortlessly. It's strange and worrisome, and so unlike her to be so smitten. If Eros has shot her in the ass, she's going to be frakking pissed off. Stupid frakking gods.
She pauses by her bureau of drawers and scrounges for her lighter and cutter. Kara can't see for shit in the dark, but she can identify her lighter by touch and she makes certain to keep her cigars by the bed. Her lips are dry, and the cigar pulls at the tender skin over them as she clips and lights.
She puffs on the cigar lightly, taking pleasure in the bright yellow flame of fire. Zak snorts in his sleep, and she smirks to herself, catching her reflection in the mirror. She looks good; she's not the sort to obsess about her body. She's far more interested in the cigar rolling between her fingertips, the soft brown wrapping crinkles between her fingers. The embers burn bright and orange, a swirl of circles that she's already immortalized on her wall in mustard and navy.
She likes to paint after sex, although it's not as much about like as it is about need. Painting is a compulsion as primal and necessary and right as anything she does in the cockpit. Sex with Zak is primal too, but that's a coupling, a coming together with bodies and sweat and shouting, and her painting, like her flying, is her own. It's just about her. She likes that. She doesn't give a flying frak if other people like her art, or if they think it's shit, she creates on her own. That's what it's always about.
At the end of the day, Kara always does things on her own.
She prefers to paint while Zak's sleeping. It's not that she's self-conscious about her painting. Kara's dad didn't raise any insecure girlie girl who's afraid to get her frakking feelings hurt. She's not embarrassed about her art either, it wouldn't be all over the house otherwise -– then again, she's not sure she would know embarrassment if it wore a sign and did a dance outside the Temple of Hera.
Kara's painting is her thing though, and she's possessive of it. She shares everything else with Zak, and she shares Zak with everyone; the feeling of cool oil paint sliding between her fingers and smearing on her naked skin is hers alone.
The smell of oils and turpentine and the way the burnt umber slides along the cracked ridges of her walls is what she lives for in the middle of the night. More than alcohol or her truck, the smell of paint and the way she holds her paint brush makes her feel alive. There are always smears of ochre and verdant on her breasts, and she's proud of them. She's proud of the things she makes, and her love for them is up there with her jacket and her tags and the cigars that she buys from Bacchus' Hookah Shoppe.
When she was little, her dad used to tell her stories about the great artists who came from miles around to paint for the gods of Kobol. He said they streamed into the city from the six paths that led out of the city of the Gods, and that Apollo blessed them with talent the way he had blessed her. Her dad said that she should always be grateful for her talents –- except that Kara's dad never wanted her to be an artist. Of course, Kara's dad's not a famous musician to her; he's just dad, and he said the creative arts were too stressful for anyone, let alone his little girl.
She supposes it's funny that he felt safer with her flying a military plane than he did with her painting, but she guess that that's just how parents are.
Her mother bought Kara her first set of paints three days after sixth birthday, and two days after Kara announced that she was going to grow up to be the best pilot in the galaxy. Her mom hoped she would forget about the flying thing. Her dad bought her a tiny sim computer and a series of model airplanes so she could learn everything there was to know about planes.
They always wanted her to choose, to commit to one or the other, but Kara never understood why she ought to. This is why she weaves her way through her apartment in the dark, ducking and dodging and knowing exactly how far away each object of furniture is from her bare legs. Her paints wait for her in the dark like a lover, and she comes to them willingly, lured by their call.
Kara gets most of her spending money by winning card games, because canvases are expensive and she has cigars to buy. She paints everything else in the house before she paints her canvases, because there's so much wall space and it's the whole reason she chose this apartment in the first place. The landlady said she didn't care if she made a mess of the walls once she found out that Kara was a pilot with the fleet. And she really didn't care once she found out about Kara's dad – but Kara's never really cared about that.
All Kara's ever cared about is her parents and her flying and her art. And Zak. She paints because she can, and because it's a lot easier for her to express herself with her fingers and her paints than it is to say whatever's on her mind. She's real good with expressing herself with her hands though, no one would ever deny that.
Her eyes adjust to the moonlight streaming in around the same time that she reaches her destination, and she takes a deep puff of her cigar, smiling to herself she contemplates what she's going to paint tonight.
Methodically
Smoking my
Cigarette
With every breath
I breathe
All the day
With every delicious
Sip
I drink away the night
Stroking my hair to
The beat of his heart
Watching a
Boy turn
Into a
Man
-end-
Beta by the fantabulous
serialkarma
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 04:41 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing!
no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 05:20 pm (UTC)Fantastically glad to have you around, Z.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 05:30 pm (UTC)no, wait.
*LOVES*
there, that's better.*g*
(also, dude, your Starbuck icon rocks. damn.)
no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:49 pm (UTC)*loves*
Also, this icon is the shit, no? I got it at
no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 06:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 07:19 pm (UTC)Yeah. She couldn't even sit tight and let someone else rescue her. Had to do that on her own, too. ( ;
I wish the show would tell us a bit about what Zak was like. I love the way you've written their relationship. Warm and comfortable, but not dull in any way. Starbuck'd have a hard time being dull, I think.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:53 pm (UTC)Not only do I not mind, I am totally honoured. Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 09:24 pm (UTC)I like this. You've taken the painting concept and made it less "OMG Angsty Goth Emo" and more "slightly manic, yet somewhat well-adjusted". Which is nice. *smoooooooooooches*
no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 08:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 10:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 10:41 pm (UTC)You missed a line in the poem though. The middle section goes:
...out the day.
With every delicious
sip...
no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-30 12:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-30 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-31 03:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-31 05:44 pm (UTC)Thanks.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-01 07:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 06:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-12 12:50 am (UTC)Nicely done.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-19 12:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-11 06:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-19 09:37 am (UTC)Starbuck was at first a very difficult character for me to get; she didn't seem to *fit* right. But then I realised that that was because the writers had created someone so unique she didn't fit into any preconcieved models I had -- and this fic deliniates that very thing beautifully.