graphics programs hate my computer
Feb. 16th, 2007 12:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivendellroseCurses upon GIMP and/or my computer - she only dies when I'm trying to do something that's actually working. And then I spend several horrible minutes in a panic, trying to close down everything I can, but, inevitably, it is too late. GIMP has shat itself, and will not let me so much as save my progress, and I must start over from scratch. ARGH. I absolutely hate how much processing space graphics programs take up, and how little I have to spare!
I'm going to go recreate the work I was doing on a new desktop, thanks very much. *Growls*
Meanwhile, have more fic. This thing came to me one evening when I was trying to work on the Buffy Fic of Doom, and since I'd always rather wondered what the hell happened in the gap not shown by the episode, I submitted to the bunny.
Title: Interlude
Fandom: Buffy
Characters: Giles and Jenny
Notes: Set during "Ted." Even in Sunnydale, it's hard to explain getting shot in the back by a crossbow. And no, I don't particularly know why all my Buffy fic so far has been partly from the perspective of hospital staff. I promise my next one won't.
Rating: Entirely safe, though there are certainly implications.
Disclaimer: If I owned them, things would have gone differently. Joss, Fox, and Mutant Enemy do own them, and I intend no infringement or monetary gain. It's just for fun!
It was one of those nights Nurse Martins had hoped she’d be avoiding now that she’d left the big city and gotten a job at the hospital in Sunnydale. Nice, quiet little town, she’d thought. Far away from any major cities, hadn’t looked like much for crime or anything... she’d expected when she moved out that the worst she’d be dealing with was the usual household accidents, car wrecks, things like that.
After a few weeks in this sleepy little suburb, she was starting to think maybe moving back to San Diego wasn’t such a bad idea. She’d seen people come in with bites that looked like no dog bite she’d ever seen, people with weird and inexplicable diseases, and now...
“So... according to your intake papers, you were shot in the back with... a cross-bow. Is that correct, sir?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” The gentleman - that was really the only word Martins could summon for the well-dressed British man who was perched on the examination table - at least had the grace to look apologetic about the situation.
“And this happened how exactly?”
“It was my fault.”
Martins looked at the woman. Medium height, medium build, dark hair and eyes... well-dressed, if in a trendier fashion than the man she’d been hovering around since their arrival. Didn’t look like the sort to end a lover’s quarrel with a weapon, but you never could tell, nowadays. “You shot this man?”
“Not on purpose! It was an accident!”
“I collect antique weapons,” the gentleman put in, wincing a little as he shifted on the table. “I convinced Ms... er, Jenny,” he corrected himself after a dark look from his companion, “that it might be amusing to give one a try. In an entirely unpopulated and safe area, I assure you, but... unfortunately, the trigger slipped while I was retrieving a spent bolt, and... it shot me in the back.”
Martins eyed the man suspiciously. “Do you have any kind of training with these weapons you collect, sir?”
“Of course.” He looked rather affronted. “I’ve practiced with them since I was a boy.”
“And yet you didn’t know enough to leave the bolt in the wound and break off the part that stuck out, rather than removing it and causing more damage?”
“Er.” The gentleman flinched and looked down at his hands. “I’m afraid that given the situation... I panicked.”
Something still wasn’t adding up. “And the bruises? Forgive me for saying, Mr. Giles, but you look like you’ve had more than just that excitement tonight. You’ve got contusions all over your chest and back...”
The gentleman coughed, a stricken expression crossing his face. The woman, however...
“Uh... That was my fault, too, Nurse.”
Martins’ mind revisited that thought about domestic squabbles. Sometimes the most surprising people...
“I mean, we, uh...” The woman waved her hands, eyebrows raised, and then pursed her lips. “We’re dating, Nurse. I maybe got a little... rough, earlier this evening, while we were having some fun.”
“I see.” Martins looked from the woman to the bruises, and back again. The woman couldn’t stand above five-seven, she thought, and though she looked reasonably fit she didn’t exactly have a bulk of muscle on that frame... And yet, the look of appalled embarrassment that the gentleman was shooting his lady friend certainly seemed to lend weight to the woman’s statement. Martins sighed. “Alright, Mr. Giles. Let’s get you fixed up, here. But just one thing, both of you, before we do?”
“Yes?”
“For god’s sake, be careful with your games. Take some classes in responsible S&M. And don’t ever point a loaded weapon at somebody, even in fun.”
Sometimes, it felt like everybody in the damned world thought like teenagers. With a sigh, she started on the work of patching up the gentleman’s back, while he and his girlfriend studiously avoided each other’s eyes.
* * *
“Did you have to say that?”
“What would you rather me have said? ‘Oh, sorry, Nurse - he was fighting vampires before I shot him in the back, that’s why he has all the bruises!’ I’m sure that would have gone over really well, Rupert.”
“But you... I...”
“I implied that you have a sex life. I should be appalled with myself, I know. And to be honest, I am - I’m appalled that I’m dating a man who can’t handle talking about sex when we’ve been dating for almost six months! And we’ve known each other for more than a year!”
Silence filled the car. Jenny found herself wishing she hadn’t been quite so accomodating as not to turn on the radio when they got in - at least Rupert bitching about her taste in music would have been normal and acceptable. She could have handled that. But what kind of man accepted getting shot in the back with more grace than he tolerated a quick and expedient lie that just happened to involve a little bit of hard sex?
“I wasn’t aware that it upset you so much,” he finally said, his voice calm and low.
“Well, I wasn’t aware it’d piss you off so much that I’d say something about it. So we’re even.”
“I’m not... pissed about it.” She could practically hear him wincing at the American slang. “I only prefer to keep that sort of thing private. As a teacher...”
“Oh, fuck the school, Rupert. The emergency room nurse is not going to run tattling to the school board that you came in with a few bruises. Stop being so uptight. You’ll pop a stitch.”
“There weren’t any--”
“Being uptight again.”
“Right.”
Jenny sighed and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “Look, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll try to come up with something that won’t insult your stoic British dignity, okay?”
“Next time?”
She smiled. “What, you honestly think this is the last time I’ll have to drive you to the hospital? The way you and Buffy get hurt, I might as well apply for my own parking space there.”
“You, ah... I take this to mean that we’re... alright again?”
The smile faded a little. “We’re alright, Rupert. That’s what I came to the cemetery to tell you originally, remember? Before the vampires?”
“I remember,” he agreed softly. “I wasn’t sure whether you meant it as a... professional and friendly courtesy, though, or...”
“Oh, for god’s sake, Rupert. I was upset about the thing with Eyghon, I’m not denying that. But I’m over it. If the last seven or eight times I’ve nearly been killed since moving to this town didn’t put me off dating you, I’m not about to let this one do the job.”
“Even though this time was my fault.”
She was quiet for a long moment, watching for an opportunity to turn left into his apartment’s parking lot, and when she spoke again her voice was much softer than he usually heard it. “We all make mistakes, Rupert. Sometimes they’re the kind that don’t go away easily. It’s not easy, but... you have to just take them as they come, and move on.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it would have to do for now.
He nodded slowly. “Thank you, Jenny. And for the record, I’m deeply sorry that you had to see that side of my past.”
She forced a smile. “Believe me, if I told you half the things I got up to in college, you’d probably never be able to look at me again. If you think I’m wild now...”
“Let’s... not get into that just now.”
“Good idea,” she teased. “Right now, I just want to get you into bed.”
He blinked. “Er... Crossbow? Hospital? Deep puncture wound?”
“Not that way, you idiot. I nearly killed you once already today - that’s good enough for me. I’m not so kinky I like my men bleeding. But I am also not so stupid that I’m going to just drop you off on your doorstep like this.” She gave him a wicked smile. “I plan to have my horrible way with you one of these days soon, and I can’t very well do that if you maim yourself with improper care.”
They managed to get inside with minimal trouble, although Rupert was annoyingly insistent about digging his keys out of his pocket on his own, despite the pain it obviously caused him to bend that way. Once inside, the real difficulties began.
“I assure you, I’m more than capable of undressing myself, Jenny.”
“I’m sure you are. I’m also sure you’ll just stay up reading some musty old book or other if I don’t stay and make you go to bed. Fortunately, we don’t need to argue about that.”
“And why is that?”
Jenny grinned. “Because I’m also sure that you would never endanger my safety by insisting that I drive home this late at night, while I’m exhausted from taking care of you.”
“Jenny...”
“Be quiet, Rupert.” She pressed a single finger to his lips, then started on the work of unbuttoning his shirt. “Nothing indecent, I promise. I’ll help you get upstairs, and we’ll go to sleep. I’ll even stay dressed, if it bothers you that much. But I want to stay here tonight.”
He was quiet for so long that she thought for a moment he would insist on her leaving, but then he kissed her softly, and the rest was easier. Getting up the stairs hurt his side, but once there he was willing enough to let her undress him, and even passively submitted to yet another solemn examination of his wounds.
“I guess I should start taking weapons training of some kind if I’m going to stay on the Hellmouth, huh?” she said softly, running her fingers lightly over a particularly bad bruise on his shoulder. “It’s not like it’s ever going to get safer to live here, is it?”
“Probably not,” he admitted.
“It doesn’t seem to fit you.”
“It’s part of being a watcher.” He shrugged. “The slayer is the one who must do most of the fighting, but by association, watchers have always been drawn in. As have the people around them,” he added wryly as he covered her hand with his. And since Buffy nothing she wanted to talk about just now, Jenny kissed him. It took a little work to find a position that didn’t bother the wound in Rupert’s side, but when he’d finally settled in she smiled and snuggled in next to him. She fell asleep with the warm scent of him all around her, musk and male draped over with old books, tea, and whiskey, and she dreamed that night of red roses strewn all across the floor of his library. The smell of them overwhelmed and intoxicated her, and when she awoke in the middle of the night she was almost surprised not to be able to trace the sensation to something real. Then Rupert shifted closer to her in his sleep, and she smiled and focused her mind on a more immediate dream in the real world. A future like this - whole rooms full of flowers had nothing on the warm velvet of Rupert’s arm around her waist.
She’d never been much for the usual trappings of romance, she thought as she fell back to sleep, but she did like red roses. That seemed like a good sign for the future.
I'm going to go recreate the work I was doing on a new desktop, thanks very much. *Growls*
Meanwhile, have more fic. This thing came to me one evening when I was trying to work on the Buffy Fic of Doom, and since I'd always rather wondered what the hell happened in the gap not shown by the episode, I submitted to the bunny.
Title: Interlude
Fandom: Buffy
Characters: Giles and Jenny
Notes: Set during "Ted." Even in Sunnydale, it's hard to explain getting shot in the back by a crossbow. And no, I don't particularly know why all my Buffy fic so far has been partly from the perspective of hospital staff. I promise my next one won't.
Rating: Entirely safe, though there are certainly implications.
Disclaimer: If I owned them, things would have gone differently. Joss, Fox, and Mutant Enemy do own them, and I intend no infringement or monetary gain. It's just for fun!
It was one of those nights Nurse Martins had hoped she’d be avoiding now that she’d left the big city and gotten a job at the hospital in Sunnydale. Nice, quiet little town, she’d thought. Far away from any major cities, hadn’t looked like much for crime or anything... she’d expected when she moved out that the worst she’d be dealing with was the usual household accidents, car wrecks, things like that.
After a few weeks in this sleepy little suburb, she was starting to think maybe moving back to San Diego wasn’t such a bad idea. She’d seen people come in with bites that looked like no dog bite she’d ever seen, people with weird and inexplicable diseases, and now...
“So... according to your intake papers, you were shot in the back with... a cross-bow. Is that correct, sir?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” The gentleman - that was really the only word Martins could summon for the well-dressed British man who was perched on the examination table - at least had the grace to look apologetic about the situation.
“And this happened how exactly?”
“It was my fault.”
Martins looked at the woman. Medium height, medium build, dark hair and eyes... well-dressed, if in a trendier fashion than the man she’d been hovering around since their arrival. Didn’t look like the sort to end a lover’s quarrel with a weapon, but you never could tell, nowadays. “You shot this man?”
“Not on purpose! It was an accident!”
“I collect antique weapons,” the gentleman put in, wincing a little as he shifted on the table. “I convinced Ms... er, Jenny,” he corrected himself after a dark look from his companion, “that it might be amusing to give one a try. In an entirely unpopulated and safe area, I assure you, but... unfortunately, the trigger slipped while I was retrieving a spent bolt, and... it shot me in the back.”
Martins eyed the man suspiciously. “Do you have any kind of training with these weapons you collect, sir?”
“Of course.” He looked rather affronted. “I’ve practiced with them since I was a boy.”
“And yet you didn’t know enough to leave the bolt in the wound and break off the part that stuck out, rather than removing it and causing more damage?”
“Er.” The gentleman flinched and looked down at his hands. “I’m afraid that given the situation... I panicked.”
Something still wasn’t adding up. “And the bruises? Forgive me for saying, Mr. Giles, but you look like you’ve had more than just that excitement tonight. You’ve got contusions all over your chest and back...”
The gentleman coughed, a stricken expression crossing his face. The woman, however...
“Uh... That was my fault, too, Nurse.”
Martins’ mind revisited that thought about domestic squabbles. Sometimes the most surprising people...
“I mean, we, uh...” The woman waved her hands, eyebrows raised, and then pursed her lips. “We’re dating, Nurse. I maybe got a little... rough, earlier this evening, while we were having some fun.”
“I see.” Martins looked from the woman to the bruises, and back again. The woman couldn’t stand above five-seven, she thought, and though she looked reasonably fit she didn’t exactly have a bulk of muscle on that frame... And yet, the look of appalled embarrassment that the gentleman was shooting his lady friend certainly seemed to lend weight to the woman’s statement. Martins sighed. “Alright, Mr. Giles. Let’s get you fixed up, here. But just one thing, both of you, before we do?”
“Yes?”
“For god’s sake, be careful with your games. Take some classes in responsible S&M. And don’t ever point a loaded weapon at somebody, even in fun.”
Sometimes, it felt like everybody in the damned world thought like teenagers. With a sigh, she started on the work of patching up the gentleman’s back, while he and his girlfriend studiously avoided each other’s eyes.
* * *
“Did you have to say that?”
“What would you rather me have said? ‘Oh, sorry, Nurse - he was fighting vampires before I shot him in the back, that’s why he has all the bruises!’ I’m sure that would have gone over really well, Rupert.”
“But you... I...”
“I implied that you have a sex life. I should be appalled with myself, I know. And to be honest, I am - I’m appalled that I’m dating a man who can’t handle talking about sex when we’ve been dating for almost six months! And we’ve known each other for more than a year!”
Silence filled the car. Jenny found herself wishing she hadn’t been quite so accomodating as not to turn on the radio when they got in - at least Rupert bitching about her taste in music would have been normal and acceptable. She could have handled that. But what kind of man accepted getting shot in the back with more grace than he tolerated a quick and expedient lie that just happened to involve a little bit of hard sex?
“I wasn’t aware that it upset you so much,” he finally said, his voice calm and low.
“Well, I wasn’t aware it’d piss you off so much that I’d say something about it. So we’re even.”
“I’m not... pissed about it.” She could practically hear him wincing at the American slang. “I only prefer to keep that sort of thing private. As a teacher...”
“Oh, fuck the school, Rupert. The emergency room nurse is not going to run tattling to the school board that you came in with a few bruises. Stop being so uptight. You’ll pop a stitch.”
“There weren’t any--”
“Being uptight again.”
“Right.”
Jenny sighed and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “Look, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll try to come up with something that won’t insult your stoic British dignity, okay?”
“Next time?”
She smiled. “What, you honestly think this is the last time I’ll have to drive you to the hospital? The way you and Buffy get hurt, I might as well apply for my own parking space there.”
“You, ah... I take this to mean that we’re... alright again?”
The smile faded a little. “We’re alright, Rupert. That’s what I came to the cemetery to tell you originally, remember? Before the vampires?”
“I remember,” he agreed softly. “I wasn’t sure whether you meant it as a... professional and friendly courtesy, though, or...”
“Oh, for god’s sake, Rupert. I was upset about the thing with Eyghon, I’m not denying that. But I’m over it. If the last seven or eight times I’ve nearly been killed since moving to this town didn’t put me off dating you, I’m not about to let this one do the job.”
“Even though this time was my fault.”
She was quiet for a long moment, watching for an opportunity to turn left into his apartment’s parking lot, and when she spoke again her voice was much softer than he usually heard it. “We all make mistakes, Rupert. Sometimes they’re the kind that don’t go away easily. It’s not easy, but... you have to just take them as they come, and move on.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it would have to do for now.
He nodded slowly. “Thank you, Jenny. And for the record, I’m deeply sorry that you had to see that side of my past.”
She forced a smile. “Believe me, if I told you half the things I got up to in college, you’d probably never be able to look at me again. If you think I’m wild now...”
“Let’s... not get into that just now.”
“Good idea,” she teased. “Right now, I just want to get you into bed.”
He blinked. “Er... Crossbow? Hospital? Deep puncture wound?”
“Not that way, you idiot. I nearly killed you once already today - that’s good enough for me. I’m not so kinky I like my men bleeding. But I am also not so stupid that I’m going to just drop you off on your doorstep like this.” She gave him a wicked smile. “I plan to have my horrible way with you one of these days soon, and I can’t very well do that if you maim yourself with improper care.”
They managed to get inside with minimal trouble, although Rupert was annoyingly insistent about digging his keys out of his pocket on his own, despite the pain it obviously caused him to bend that way. Once inside, the real difficulties began.
“I assure you, I’m more than capable of undressing myself, Jenny.”
“I’m sure you are. I’m also sure you’ll just stay up reading some musty old book or other if I don’t stay and make you go to bed. Fortunately, we don’t need to argue about that.”
“And why is that?”
Jenny grinned. “Because I’m also sure that you would never endanger my safety by insisting that I drive home this late at night, while I’m exhausted from taking care of you.”
“Jenny...”
“Be quiet, Rupert.” She pressed a single finger to his lips, then started on the work of unbuttoning his shirt. “Nothing indecent, I promise. I’ll help you get upstairs, and we’ll go to sleep. I’ll even stay dressed, if it bothers you that much. But I want to stay here tonight.”
He was quiet for so long that she thought for a moment he would insist on her leaving, but then he kissed her softly, and the rest was easier. Getting up the stairs hurt his side, but once there he was willing enough to let her undress him, and even passively submitted to yet another solemn examination of his wounds.
“I guess I should start taking weapons training of some kind if I’m going to stay on the Hellmouth, huh?” she said softly, running her fingers lightly over a particularly bad bruise on his shoulder. “It’s not like it’s ever going to get safer to live here, is it?”
“Probably not,” he admitted.
“It doesn’t seem to fit you.”
“It’s part of being a watcher.” He shrugged. “The slayer is the one who must do most of the fighting, but by association, watchers have always been drawn in. As have the people around them,” he added wryly as he covered her hand with his. And since Buffy nothing she wanted to talk about just now, Jenny kissed him. It took a little work to find a position that didn’t bother the wound in Rupert’s side, but when he’d finally settled in she smiled and snuggled in next to him. She fell asleep with the warm scent of him all around her, musk and male draped over with old books, tea, and whiskey, and she dreamed that night of red roses strewn all across the floor of his library. The smell of them overwhelmed and intoxicated her, and when she awoke in the middle of the night she was almost surprised not to be able to trace the sensation to something real. Then Rupert shifted closer to her in his sleep, and she smiled and focused her mind on a more immediate dream in the real world. A future like this - whole rooms full of flowers had nothing on the warm velvet of Rupert’s arm around her waist.
She’d never been much for the usual trappings of romance, she thought as she fell back to sleep, but she did like red roses. That seemed like a good sign for the future.
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